


For All the Stars We Cannot See

by iambluehead



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Flirting, Fluff, Highschool AU, Homophobia, IT'S FINALLY UP, Jock!Liam, M/M, OT5 Friendship, Oblivious Liam, Racism, Some underage drinking, a bit of non romantic tomlinshaw, awkward highschoolers sorting out their feelings, excessive mentions of stars, football player!liam, i think i've tagged everything i need to, if you hate calvin i swear you'll love this fic omg, it's all, like two seconds of slight angst, mentions of bullying, ok that's it enjoy, slight islamophobia, slowish burn, that makes it sound really dark i promise it's not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-21 13:32:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4830932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iambluehead/pseuds/iambluehead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Zayn grins sheepishly, the light hitting his face and making him squint, his fingers curling around the strap of his bag and his other hand rubbing at the back of his neck, a habit of Liam’s own that he recognizes on the other boy. </i>
  <br/>
  <i>“Yeah,” he finally says. “Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow?”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“Yeah,” Liam says, letting out the breath that he’d been holding in his lungs until it burned. “Yeah, see you then.”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>The door slams shut, and Liam watches him walk up to his front door, wondering what would have happened if in that moment, he would have just leaned forward and—</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“The boy’s in bloody love with you,” Louis says bluntly, pulling away from the house and slamming around a corner at the speed of light. “You should get over your fear of everything and just kiss him already.” </i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(This is the high school AU where Liam plays football and is afraid of failure until someone puts Zayn in his life and he learns to be brave. There’s music Liam’s never heard of, eventful rides home from school, and drunken toasts to the stars they can’t see from Wolverhampton.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	For All the Stars We Cannot See

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S FINALLY UP!! yes, nearly two months after I originally said I'd be posting it, here is my second fic. There were some procrastination issues and then a lottt of technical issues with my beta, and as a result, this fic is NOT betaed and all mistakes are my own. So sorry for the delay and i hope you all still want to read it lol. If you would like to know how i picture the boys looking in this fic, I made a graphic on my tumblr [here](http://iambluehead.tumblr.com/post/129517322809/for-all-the-stars-we-cannot-see-by-iambluehead), so go check that out.
> 
> Some disclaimers: I know nothing about soccer/football, so any information about that in here is entirely what I've made up, assumed, or needed for the plotline, and I certainly don't claim any of it to be accurate. Sorry to any soccer/football aficionados that I may offend with my ignorance. I also know nothing about the schooling system in England, so the terminology i use in here is American, sorry. If anyone needs clarification for anything just ask! And finally, I own nothing/nobody, am not associated with anyone, and am making no money off of anything. Believe me, if I owned 1d, i wouldn't be writing this. 
> 
> Basically, this is a relatively fluffy highschool au full of feelings and excessive metaphors and teenage awkwardness, so pretty much the exact opposite of my last fic! I'm sort of fluctuating between loving it and hating it, so please tell me what you think and enjoy!

100% of the time Liam’s been in trouble—in real, actual, “who-knows-if-I-can-talk-my-way-out-of-this” kind of trouble with adults—it’s because of Louis. Liam’s never gotten himself into the kind of mess where he can’t look teachers in the eyes for months by himself. No, it’s only Louis who’s ever managed to do that for him. Liam does feel like most adults know that it’s Louis who spells trouble in their little duo, though—maybe that’s why he’s also always gotten off easier than Louis when they get caught.

Their friendship starts in elementary school when Louis’ new to Wolverhampton, fresh out of the north, and everyone’s making fun of his accent. Louis doesn’t spare them a second glance—he doesn’t even spare them a first glance, really—and marches over to Liam, who’s sitting in the corner hoping no one notices him. 

“How come no one’s talking to you?” he demands. Liam doesn’t know it yet, but it’s classic Louis. Blunt, forward, and uncaring if he’s rude or not. 

Liam lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “They don’t like me very much, I guess.”

Louis gives him a calculated glance and then sits down beside him. “They don’t like me very much, either. M’Louis, who’re you?”

They get on just fine from there. It shouldn’t work—not by a long shot—because Louis’ all spontaneity and spitfire while Liam’s more like a river, predictably flowing in the same direction day in and day out. He likes a plan. He likes reassurance. He’s boring, something Louis occasionally tells him without malice, something that he grew into once he stopped asking out girls who were far out of his league. 

He and Louis get into secondary school and join the football team in freshman year, a decision everyone’s expecting Louis to make, but which Liam gets a lot of shit for. He’s actually gotten shit about everything he’s done for the past nine years, really; even Louis’ near-celebrity status in their school can’t protect him from the people who think he’s just not good enough, the people who tell him he should lose some weight before he even thinks about trying to make the team. Louis tells him to ignore it. He tries.

Sophomore year is the roughest—he has his birthday party and no one shows up because Louis’ out of town. No one can stop shoving him into lockers or calling him names at school. He tries harder than ever on the team, and no one seems to notice or care, even when he’s throwing up from working out too much. No one except Niall, that is.

“All right, let’s get ya cleaned up, mate,” his teammate says in a thick, sunny Irish accent. Niall moved to Wolverhampton at the beginning of the year, and everyone already likes him without trying. Liam’s been trying not to hate him for this fact, because Liam’s been living here his whole life, and no one’s ever offered him the same inclusion they have Niall, no one except Louis, that is. “Need water or somethin’?”

Liam dries his mouth and shakes his head. Shortly after, he decides not to hate Niall, and somehow, he and Louis find themselves part of a trio.

It’s in junior year that things get good—he and Louis become co-captains of the footie team, and for some reason this takes Liam from Louis’ very uncool tag-along to someone other people actually want to talk to, someone people can mention and everyone else in the classroom will say “Liam Payne? Oh, yeah, he’s a good bloke.” He wants to ask where everyone was last year when he needed someone to say that to him more than anything, but people are actually starting to like him, and the girls he’d once gotten rejected by are whispering about him to their friends, so he keeps quiet and enjoys it.

It’s weird at first, being liked, but he gets used to it. And then it’s senior year, and the boy who hosted an abandoned birthday party is gone; in his place is a footie captain getting ready to graduate. He’s got a football scholarship to a university and a few professional teams scouting him and things are just . . . really good.

“Don’t forget we have to stay after school today for tryouts,” Louis tells him between classes. “Bloody coach wants us to help out with the freshers.” 

“I know,” Liam says, swinging his bag onto his shoulder. “You know I wouldn’t forget.”

“Course I know, Payno,” Louis says with a wink. “Niall said he’d stay and help out if I’d drive him home.” He gives Liam a companionable shove. “Which, like, thank bloody God for him, cos I know you love that shit. I need someone to distract me.”

“You’re the captain, you should be helping me,” Liam says without conviction, because they both know Louis will spend half the time at tryouts pissing around with Niall and the other half trying to scare all the freshman who are trying to join the team. 

“Correction, love, I’m the _co_ -captain. That means you’re _also_ a captain, which means that you’ve got it under control, yeah?”

Liam rolls his eyes and starts walking, giving Sophia Smith a small wave when she smiles at him from beside her friend’s locker.

“She’s got it bad for you, y’know,” Louis says quietly, bouncing along at his side. “If you into birds at the moment, I’d say go for it.”

“Say it a little louder, please,” Liam says from between gritted teeth. 

“No one cares that I’m into lads, doubt they’d care you swing both ways, love.”

“Yeah, well, you’re you.”

“And that’s supposed to mean what?”

Liam rolls his eyes again. “It means keep your mouth shut.”

Which isn’t entirely inaccurate, but what he’d really meant was that Louis is Louis, so of course no one cares. (Well, not no one—there are people who care, people who care a lot, people like Calvin from the footie team, who’d been one of Louis’ best friends until he’d come out—but most people know enough about Louis and his glowing reputation as a footballer that they don’t care.) Louis’ enough of a social butterfly, enough of an outgoing, likable person that most people don’t care if he’s also gay. People liked him before he came out, and they still like him now. Liam, on the other hand, is still adjusting to his new-found popularity. He doesn’t want to risk not being the one who’s always left out.

“All right, keep your pants on, Payno. Unless you’re giving Smith a go, in which case you might want to be taking them of. Would you go for her or not?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“Are you saving yourself for marriage or what?”

“Also a stupid question.” Liam turns into the maths corridor and hopes Louis doesn’t follow him. No such luck.

“Are you still moping about Danielle?”

“That was a year ago, Lou.”

“Then what’s stopping you? I’m just think about your poor balls, here.”

Liam’s saved from having to respond by Niall, who appears out of nowhere and shoves himself between them with a grin. 

“’Ey, lads, what’s the craic? Danielson test is terrible,” he says, nodding at Liam. “Did ya study your unit circle?”

“Erm—” Liam scrabbles in his bag for his notes. “Yeah, but I’ll do it again?”

“Eh, you should be fine, then,” Niall says dismissively. “Me, I didn’t study at all.”

“That’s my man,” Louis says. 

Liam stops outside his classroom, still clutching his notes. “Anything else I need to know?”

“Nah, mate, you’ll be fine.”

He nods to himself once and then turns to go into the classroom. “See you both at tryouts then, yeah?”

“For sure, love, see you then,” Louis calls, and then he and Niall race down the hallways to get to class.

★★★

Tryouts are exhausting. It takes an hour just to get everyone organized, and then another two to get the actual tryouts done, and then another hour to answer everyone’s questions about the team and the results and when everyone will know who got in. Liam’s got near endless patience for this sort of thing, but by the end, he wants to rip his hair out, and Louis looks like he wants to commit mass murder.

“All right boys,” Coach Paddy says, “I think you’ve done your part. Come to my office before school tomorrow, yeah? We can talk about the results and the new team then.”

“Thanks, Coach,” Liam say in relief. “See you tomorrow.”

“We’re gonna hit up Nando’s on the way to Niall’s, you coming?” Louis asks him as they do their best not to sprint away from the field. 

Liam sighs. “No, think I’ll skip out today. Gotta get home, do my chem homework, maybe take a kip. See you tomorrow, yeah?”

“You know it. Have fun being lonely and single at home.”

“Have fun being lonely and single at Nando’s,” Liam throws back.

“How d’you know if I’m single? For all you know Niall and I are fucking.”

“Sure you are. Have fun fucking at Nando’s, then.”

“We will.” The pair of them take off towards Louis’ car, and Liam shakes his head fondly and sets off towards his, mind already on the chemistry homework he’d been assigned. 

In the car, he tunes into the radio and finds a station playing Drake, turning it up a little and rolling down one window. He got the car last year with the money he made from two summers of working at a footie camp for elementary school kids, and it’s his most prized possession. The ride home from school—sometimes spent with Louis and Niall with lively conversation bouncing around the car, sometimes quietly alone with only the radio to keep him company—is his favorite part of the day, excluding days when the teams has practice. It lets him collect his thoughts, plan out the rest of his day, and relax a little. 

He supposes that maybe he should pay more attention in the car, though.

There’s a flash of sudden color across his windshield at the same time there’s an awful sort of a thud, and then he’s letting out a shocked yelp and slamming on the brakes, rocking forward from the force of coming to such a quick stop at the same time he realizes that he’s run a stop sign that’s directly in front of a crosswalk. The next realization he has is that he’s definitely, definitely hit something. 

Liam’s heart drops into his stomach. _Please don’t let it be a person,_ he prays. _Please, please don’t let it be a person._

He turns off the car and opens the door, his heart beating faster than he would have thought possible. _Please, fuck, don’t be a person, oh fuck, why does this shit happen to me, why wasn’t I paying attention, shit._ Maybe this is karma for the time he and Louis trashed Niall’s locker. Maybe this is—

When he looks in front of his car, there’s a skateboard and a crumpled figure in front of his car. He feels like he’s going to throw up.

“Shit, mate, I’m so sorry, oh my God—” He starts, feeling his vision blur with panic because _why hadn’t he been looking, why hadn’t he paid attention?_ “Should I—are you—can you sit up?”

The figure coughs. He can’t see much of them, just a pair of skinny legs and a denim jacketed arm; he thinks it’s a bloke.

“Yeah, I can, cheers,” the person says, coughing again and slowly sitting up. “Is me nose bleedin’?”

And _fuck,_ this is really, _really_ not Liam’s day, because not only has he managed to hit an _actual person,_ but he’s also managed to hit the most attractive person he’s ever seen. Which is like. Not very good.

The bloke grins at him crookedly from the ground, golden brown eyes squinted up against the sun. There is, indeed, a trickle of blood coming from his nose, and Liam feels worse than ever, because he may have just run over the male Beyoncé. 

“Do I look that bad?” the boy asks, and Liam starts.

“Sorry—I—shit, I’m so sorry, yeah, your nose is—yeah, it’s bleeding. I think I’ve got tissues in my car, I’m so sorry—”

He turns back to the car, rummaging around in the back seat until he finds a battered box of tissues. “Here—I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking—”

“Cheers,” the boy says again, plucking a fistful of tissues out and pinching his nose with them. “In much of a hurry, then?”

“I—what?”  
“Well, you ran the bloody stop sign, didn’t you?” He’s smiling again, though, which is unfairly gorgeous, and also pretty fucking confusing, because Liam can’t tell if he’s angry or not. He probably is. Liam just ran him over, after all.

“Yeah—no, I just had a long day, y’know, and I wasn’t paying attention—I’m so, so sorry, mate, like—are you okay?” He tries to catalog the boy’s appearance to make sure he’s okay, but he keeps getting stuck on details like how the boy’s fringe is falling in his face, dark and straight with a spot of blond at the front like he’d dyed it but it’s growing out now, the way his eyes are three shades of golden brown darker than his skin, the way his eyelashes dust over the tops of his cheekbones when he blinks. It’s unfair, it’s fucking unfair that he has to think like this when this is an actual, serious problem in front of him right now, and it makes him feel worse than ever. He looks down, tries to focus on his shoes, on the scuffs on the rubber toes and the laces that he always triple knots because the Converse laces are too long. Anything but the boy in front of him. 

“Yeah, I don’t think anything’s broken? Might have scuffed my elbow a bit going down.” He rolls up his sleeve and dabs at his elbow with the tissue, and then looks up and shrugs at Liam. “Give me a hand up?”

“Yeah, of course,” Liam says, extending a hand and pulling the boy to his feet. “I really am so sorry—here, d’you want me to drive you to the hospital? You should probably just get checked out—”

“Nah, I’m fine, mate, thanks loads, though.”

“Want me to drive you home or wherever you’re going?”

“No, seriously, man, I’m good. S’like a five minute walk from here,” the boys says, clapping Liam on the shoulder. “And like, no offence, but I don’t really have much faith in your driving abilities at the moment.”

“Right, sorry, of course,” Liam gabbles. “Sorry, of course y’don’t want the person who just ran you over to drive you anywhere, sorry, that was stupid of me.”

“S’all good.” The boy picks up his skateboard. “Y’look like you feel worse about this than I do, to be honest.”

“Yeah, well, I—I’ve never hit anything, or anyone, and I just—I feel terrible.”

He shrugs, holds out both arms away from his body as if to let Liam check him for damage. “Hey—no damage done, yeah? All good.”

But Liam’s mind is going at a million miles an hour, so he just blinks at the boy stupidly until he drops his arms. 

“All right, well. I’ll see you around, yeah?” The boy takes two steps backwards, starting to tuck his skateboard under one arm.

“Yeah, I—d’you go to high school here? Haven’t seen you around there at all,” Liam stammers out, barely thinking about the words before they escape his mouth.

“Yeah, I’m a senior? Just started there this year, though—moved here from Bradford in June. Y’probably wouldn’t’ve seen me; don’t know many people.” The boy gives him another crooked grin. “You’re the footie captain, though, yeah?”

“Co-captain,” Liam says automatically. 

“Yeah, I was watchin’ tryouts today with me mate; he wanted to come and watch. S’why I’m late getting home.”

“Oh,” Liam says weakly, wondering why you’d want to watch tryouts for a team you’re not trying to get into. “Brilliant. Well, I’m sure this was a fantastic welcome to Wolverhampton, You know. Being hit by me car and everything.”

“Yeah, don’t know many people, like I said, but now I know you _and_ your car. S’an improvement. I think.”

Liam manages to huff out a laugh at that. “Got right well acquainted with my front bender, yeah?”

The boy has a nice smile, all squinty eyes and a scrunched nose and a glimpse of tongue pressed up against the back of his teeth. Liam clears his throat awkwardly, smile slipping off his own face as his tries to disperse any and all thoughts of how _pretty_ the person he just fucking hit with his car is. “Y’want any more tissues?”

“Nah, I’m good,” the boy says for what feels like the thousandth time. 

“All right, then.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Suppose y’don’t want to be sitting here chatting with the person who just hit you, then. I’ll let you be on your way, yeah? Sorry again. Really.”

“Yeah, all right. No harm done.” The boy takes another step backwards, feet almost on the sidewalk by now. “See you around . . . ?”

“Liam,” Liam says. 

“See you around, Liam,” the boy says. “I’m Zayn.”

★★★

Liam: Lou plssss bring food to my houseee after u drop off Nial??? :( 

Louis: Thought u didn’t want any?

Liam: I just hit sum1 w/ my car fuck wut I said….i need fooddd

Louis: YOU WHAT

Louis: PAYNO THAT’S A CLASS ACT

Louis: YOU SO DID NOT UR SHITTING ME RIGHT???? THEY HURT? ARE YOU IN TROUBLE OMG

Liam: noooo not kidding I actualy hit a person :( they r ok but I’m an idiot

Louis: WHO WAS IT

Louis: pls tell me it wasn’t an old person 

Liam: no nooo our age?? sum bloke named zen?? He is new here :( & I hit him :((

Louis: CLASS ACT 

Louis: what do u want from nandos then? Still can’t believe that Liam wtf

Liam types in his order and fights down the urge to throw his phone across the room. The embarrassment still hasn’t subsided a bit—every time he even so much as thinks about his encounter with the boy he’d hit he wants to curl up and die. Maybe run himself over with his own car or something. God, he never wants to drive again. He probably should’ve taken the boy to the hospital, or driven him home, or done anything but stand there and be unhelpful and drool over the fact the boy’s eyes shone gold in the afternoon sun. 

Liam is beyond ready to sink into the floor.

Louis: I’ll be at ur house in five min I’ll let myself in 

Liam: thnx 

Louis: I'm literally never gonna let u hear the end of this ! beyond legendary mate !!

Liam groans. Maybe it was a bad idea to tell Louis. He just really needs to eat some fucking rubbish food and have someone tell him that running away to Antarctica isn’t a viable option right now. And Louis can usually talk him down from a mood like this, so bad idea or not in the long run, it’s the best idea he has right now. Chemistry can wait. 

The door opens a few minutes later, and Louis’ voice calls up, “You in your bedroom? Get your arse down here, I’ve got your food.”

Liam hurries downstairs with a sheepish grin. “Thanks loads, Louis.”

“Your parents still at work?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a short pause, and then Louis raises his eyebrows expectantly. “Well?”

Liam groans. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You have to tell me what happened! This is the most interesting thing you’ve done since you shaved your head.”

Liam runs a self-conscious hand over his buzz cut and then winces. “I could’ve killed him, Louis.”

“But you didn’t, so we’re allowed to laugh.” Louis drapes himself over the sofa and drums his fingers dramatically. “Spill, Payno.”

“I just ran a stop sign, all right? And it happened to be in front of a crosswalk. And someone happened to be skateboarding across the crosswalk at the time. And then my car happened to collide with them. Gently. He wasn’t, like, hurt badly.”

Louis snorts. “Was he pissed?”

“No, he was really fucking nice about it, which just makes it so much worse.”

“Well, good on you for hitting the nicest person in Wolverhampton, then. I would have hit you over the head with my board.”

“I know.”

“Did you hurt him at all?”

“He had a nosebleed and a scraped elbow, so I gave him tissues. He said he was okay other than that.” Liam makes a helpless gesture. “I offered to drive him to the hospital, but . . .”

“And he goes to Wolfie?”

Liam’s always hated the nickname for Wolverhampton High, and he hates it even more at the thought that he’s going to see Zayn again there. “Yeah, apparently. Same year as us.”

“What’s his name again? Zen?”

“Dunno how it’s spelled. His accent made it sound like Zen, think he said he was Northern. Zayn, maybe.”

“Hm.” Louis frowns. “Never heard of him. New, you say?”

“That’s what he said.” Liam picks up a forkful of food and shrugs. “I hope our paths never cross again.”

“Aw, Liam, it’s not that bad. You could have killed him.” Louis sits up to rub a comforting palm across Liam’s hair. “Think about it—in the grand scheme of car crashes, yours was a relatively unembarrassing one.”

“Yeah.” Liam swats away Louis’ hand. “I’m still going to avoid running into him for the rest of my life.”

“What if you two meet up in ten years, and he’s become extremely attractive, and you really want to shag him?”

Liam groans. “Louis, that’s half the problem. He’s already extremely attractive.”

“ _You didn’t mention that!_ ” Louis shrieks. “Why haven’t I met him already?”

“I dunno. Probably because you’re too busy stalking Harry Styles.”

“I most certainly do not stalk Harry Styles,” Louis says haughtily. “He’s a ridiculous hipster and he rides stupid bicycles, and then looks too photogenic on said bicycles. I just appreciate a fine thing when I see it, all right?”

“Sure.”

“Well, if this Zayn bloke is well fit, you have to introduce us.”

“I just told you I’m never going near him again.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic.” Which is rich, really, coming from Louis, so Liam doesn’t grace it with a response. Louis lets out a small “hmph” and flops back down on the sofa. “Well, you’re welcome for bringing you food in your time of dire need.”

“Thanks. Soz for the freak out.”

The shorter boy rolls his eyes fondly. “I’ve got to say that for once it was justified. If I hit an attractive classmate with me car I would be freaked out too.” He stands up, stretches himself out like a cat, and swipes a bite of Liam’s food. “I’ll get home, then. See ya tomorrow in Coach’s office first thing, you freak.”

“Yeah. Don’t hit anyone on your way home, yeah?”

“Sure thing, love.” Louis opens the front door and winks at him. “Mission Find Zayn starts tomorrow.”

Liam nearly chokes. “ _What?_ ”

“See you tomorrow!”

The door slams shut, and Liam decides he hates Louis.

★★★

“So I heard you from Lou that you—”

“Whatever you’re about to say, I need you not to say it,” Liam says.

Niall grins. “So you _did_ run over some poor bloke on a skateboard.”

Liam groans. “Yes. Yes, I did, and he goes here so I’m probably gonna run into him at some point, and it’s going to be terrible, and Louis’ a shit friend for telling you.”

“Aw, c’mon, Li, don’t pout like that, yeah? You know we’re just playing.”

“Yeah, I know,” Liam says shortly. The sting of guilt and embarrassment is still a little too keen to laugh, though, so he just ducks his head and swings his bag over his shoulder.

“How’d the talk with Coach go? Did I make the team?”

“You’ve been on the team since sophomore year, ‘course you made it. We’ve got some new freshers as well—that Ashton bloke who can really go in for defense, and his friend Calum for right winger?”

“Yeah, they looked proper good on the field. Should be a good team this year, then?”

“Absolutely,” Liam says. 

“And we’ve got bloody brilliant captains this year, too, eh?”

“That’s what I hear.”

“Ah, fuck off, you know you’re one o’ the best we’ve got. Take care of yourself, yeah? See ya tomorrow.”

“Yeah, for sure.” Liam’s just about to turn away when Niall snags his sleeve.

★★★

“’Ey, Payno, there’s a party at Grimmy’s on Saturday, yeah? Even Lou’s coming. You up for gettin’ smashed? Y’gotta loosen up a lil with the footie season coming up, bro.”  
Liam’s known for his responsibility when it comes to things like parties—he can easily admit to never having seen the appeal of losing yourself in alcohol and dancing and (if you get lucky) meaningless sex. But the parties thrown at Nick’s house are always a little classier than the rubbish ones the high schoolers throw—Grimmy, as he’s better known, is a senior at the local community college, and always has things like rules about where you can throw up, and where you can fuck, and whether or not you’ll be allowed to drive home afterwards. _No one has ever gotten hurt at a Grimshaw party_ , Nick says with pride every time he gets a little bit drunk and cocky. _Maybe gotten pregnant, yeah, but never hurt. My parties,_ he’ll say, drawing himself up with pride and glaring around the room as if daring anyone to question him, _my parties have class._

“Yeah, all right, I’ll think about it,” Liam says finally. “If Louis’ dragging himself to Grimmy’s, then I might as well drag myself along with him.”

It’s a well-known fact that Louis and Nick have been engaged in a sort of half-friendly rivalry ever since Louis was a fresher at the high school and Nick was in his first year in uni. Liam’s still not sure exactly why they dislike each other so much, but he’s fairly sure that at least one of the reasons is that Nick has always been close to Harry Styles, the odd, charming boy that Louis’ been crushing on forever, as little as he likes to admit it. 

“That’s my lad!” Niall says, clapping Liam’s shoulder. “I’ll let ya get along now.”

“Bye, Nialler,” Liam says, a grin forced out of him despite himself by Niall’s irrepressible nature. 

The sky is hard and polished as enamel when he steps out into the school car park to get into his car, two shades of blue darker than Louis’ eyes and burning down on him with an unusually intense heat for late September. If the heat keeps up, he thinks absently, it’ll be hell to have practice tomorrow. 

By the school entrance, he can see Harry Styles on one of the bikes that Louis pokes fun at so much, frowning down at his phone and then glancing up at the door like he’s waiting for someone. The curly-haired boy’s been riding various vintage bicycles to school as long as Liam can remember seeing him—he looks like he’s straight out of a children’s book illustration today, perching on a mint green creation with a woven wicker basket on the front and oversized wheels with painted spokes. (And for all his mocking comments, Liam _knows_ that Louis thinks the eccentric habit is kind of cute.)

He turns on the car and drives home slowly, making sure to observe all stop signs and look out for pedestrians. God, he thinks that yesterday probably robbed him of all self-confidence he used to have when driving. Maybe he should get Louis to drive him from now on. Maybe he would ask if he didn’t know that Louis would take the piss out of him before telling him that he couldn’t not drive for the rest of his life.

His phone lights up with a text as he pulls into his driveway—his parents aren’t home again, which doesn’t particularly surprise him—and he thumbs open his lock screen to check it.

Louis: N says ur coming to Nick’s on Saturday??

Liam: yea I think so lasttt chance to have funn before footie season starts u kno

Louis: Yes ! Lads’ night out :) ha

Liam: if I hav 2 haul ur drunk butt home in my car I will NOT b happy

Louis: I will be responsible daddy

Liam: u know I think calling mee daddy is creeppppyy :(

Louis: I know lol that’s why I do it. See ya tomorrow loser !

Liam opens up his backpack and pulls out a stack of homework, wondering when his life got so routine. He can’t wait for football to start.

★★★

The rest of the week passes in a blur of heat and sweat and footie practice and pushing himself beyond his limits and staying up too late to finish his homework after punishing training regimens and exhausting work outs sessions. By the time Saturday comes around, he’s not sure if he has the energy to go to Nick’s, but Niall manages to talk him into it before Louis catches wind of the fact that he’s planning on backing out, which is just as well, really. Maybe what Liam really needs is a break from thinking so much.

Music is already spilling out from the light-filled windows of Grimmy’s house when they pull up—how Nick has a house when he’s only in uni, Liam has no idea—a remixed version of Trap Queen pouring out over the lawn with a thudding bass and jumbles of _I get high with my baby_. There’s a few people out on the lawn, sitting in a circle playing some sort of drinking game; Liam thinks they must be uni students because they don’t call out a greeting as he, Louis, and Niall walk by. 

“Y’know I bloody well loathe this chap,” Louis says over the strains of _everybody hating, we just call them fans, though_ as they approach the door. “But Grimmy does know how to throw a party.”

“You say that every time we come here,” Liam says, but there’s no way that Louis hears him over the roar of noise that greets them as they open the door.

“Tommo!” someone shouts, thrusting a cup into Louis’ hands, “And Payno! Our noble captains!”

Liam waves away the cup that’s offered to him; he’s always preferred to find his own booze at parties.

“Horan!” someone calls in a thick accent. 

“Bressie!” Niall cheers, surging forward to fling his arms around a solidly built uni bloke. “Haven’t seen you in forever, bro!”

Liam leaves them to catch up, and heads to the kitchen, where Sophia Smith and two friends are pouring themselves sugary drinks and giggling. Suddenly, he’s very glad Louis stayed in the other room—he doesn’t want to know what kind of remarks he’d be hissing into Liam’s ear right now. After a moment’s hesitation, he settles on offering Sophia a shy, dry-throated smile; she giggles even harder as her friends poke her sides and whisper in her ear excitedly.

“Hey, Liam!”

He whips around to see Eleanor Calder standing by the kitchen counter, one hip cocked and a challenging grin on her lips. She’s a cousin of Louis’, a year ahead of them, and studying fashion at a university in London. 

“Hi, El.”

“You’ve grown up some,” she says, raising her cup in a half-hearted toast. “Shaved the curls off, I see. Been a while, yeah?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck a bit self-consciously. “How come you’re back here?”

“Decided to come back for a bit of a long weekend,” she says with a shrug. “I have a boyfriend, you know? I wanted him to meet Mum and Dad. So we took Friday off and came back here for a few days to get them introduced properly.”

“That’s great,” he says sincerely. “You’ve seen Louis? He’s here.”

“Nah, not yet. Better get on that; make sure he’s behaving.” She leans in a bit, lowering her voice to conspiratorial whisper. “Is he still nuts over that Styles kid?”

“You know it.”

“Of course. All right, well, nice seeing you, Liam. Take care. Oh, and good luck on the team this year. You’re co-captains with Louis again, yeah?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

She pats him on the shoulder and slips out of the kitchen. He opens a can of beer and sets off to find Louis or Niall. When the crowd proves to be too thick, he settles for chatting with Andy, a friend of his from primary school. They joke around a bit before Andy heads off with his girl, and Liam’s forced to go on the move again. There’s a Beyoncé song playing— _boy, this all for you, just walk my way_ —and Liam notices that Grimmy’s got the whole place fixed up in pink lights, which is sort of odd but certainly sets a mood.

It’s only after he’s made a few circles of the house, occasionally stopping to talk with a few people, or congratulate people who made the team, and finished his beer can that Louis comes racing up to him, quite obviously a little bit buzzed—just enough to turn the tops of his cheekbones a bright pink and make the smaller boy even more loud and bold than usual. 

“Liam!” he hisses, latching onto Liam’s arm and crowding his entire face next to Liam’s in an effort to whisper into his ear. “Liam, guess who’s here?”

“Have you seen Nick?” Liam asks, hoping desperately that this isn’t the case. Louis’ a cuddly drunk, but he can be combative as well, especially around people he doesn’t like.

“Grimmy doesn’t matter to me,” Louis says loudly, waving an arm in the air. “Doesn’t matter to me, Liam. Payno. Payne. Leemo.”

“Okay, who did you see, then?”

“Harry.”

“Harry Styles?” Liam asks, struggling to make himself heard over the booming bass of an Ed Sheeran remix. 

“Yes, Harry bloody Styles!”

“Well, he’s friends with Grimmy, isn’t he? So it makes sense that—”

“There he is!” Louis whisper-shrieks, flinging out a dramatic finger. “Do I look okay?”

Liam looks over and sure enough, sees a tall, curly-headed figure ducking into the room. There’s someone at his side, smaller and slighter, that he hopes isn’t a boyfriend or girlfriend for Louis’ sake, but he doesn’t recognize them—

His heart sinks into his stomach while a hysterical laugh bubbles up in his throat at his luck. The room is dim and packed with people, and the boy’s fringe is styled up, away from his face instead up hanging down, but Liam definitely, definitely recognizes the person at Harry’s side.

Because the world absolutely, undoubtedly hates him, it’s Zayn.

“Shit,” Liam says. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“I look like shit?” Louis says incredulously. 

“No—no—you look fine, just—” Liam looks one more time for good measure, but he already knows he’s not mistaken. “Okay, see that bloke next to Harry? That’s Zayn. That’s the lad I ran over on Monday.”

A look of gleeful hilarity dawns on Louis’ face. “You’re taking the piss.”

“No, I’m really fucking not.”

Louis turns to look, and then whistles appreciatively. “Well, you were definitely right about his looks. I want to move to Bradford if they make them like that there.”

“Louis,” Liam says, trying not to panic, “how the fuck do I avoid him?”

“The fuck would you want to avoid _that_ for? If you’re not going to fuck Smith tonight, I would definitely try to go for him.”

“ _Keep your voice down_. And yeah, I’m really bloody sure he wants to sleep with the person who nearly killed him.”

“The fact that you can’t handle a car has nothing to do with your ability to handle a man, love,” Louis says smugly. 

“Please stop.”

Louis rolls his eyes dramatically and takes a gulp of his drink. “So how do I go talk to Harry?”

“If you love me,” Liam says, “you won’t.”

“Oh, please, you won’t have to talk to your attractive little accident. Just help me out here.”

“I thought you didn’t like Harry?”

Louis makes a frustrated noise. “He’s so bloody cute, and I’m well on my way to getting drunk, and I haven’t had a good lay in two bloody months because there aren’t many boys who want to fuck other boys around here. Let me have my fun.”

“I can’t help you, sorry,” Liam says, trying not to get distracted by the way Zayn pushes a hand through his hair across the room. “I’m no good at this.”

“You might be if you stopped eye-fucking a certain—”

“Oh, shut it.” 

The Weeknd comes on the speakers, and a few people cheer, couples sliding together arms to grind lazily back on each other. 

“You know what?” Louis says suddenly. “Fuck it. Just fuck it. Wish me luck.”

Without waiting for a reply, he charges into the crowd. Liam blinks after him uncertainly, shouting a tremulous “Good luck!” that he knows Louis can’t hear. Once he sees a small, curvy frame sidle up next to Harry’s taller one, Liam promptly flees the room. 

★★★

“’Ey, you seen Tommo?” Niall’s had more to drink than Liam’s had in his entire lifetime, probably, but his feet are still relatively steady, and his voice doesn’t slur. 

“Not for a while; he went off chasing Styles.”

Niall lets out a low whistle and swipes a beer can off a tottering freshman. “Nice. How much booze did it take?”

“Not that much, I don’t think.”

Niall whistles again. “ _Nice_. First time he’s had the balls for that, yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

When Niall offers him the can, Liam takes a swig. 

“Y’not drunk enough, Leemo.”

“Someone’s gotta drive home.”

Niall takes the can back and lets out a sigh. The party’s slowed down a bit by now; most of the uni kids have left to go clubbing, and the younger high schoolers have gone home or passed out. Liam can see Nick holding court in the living room, and there are few people still dancing, but almost everyone else is sitting on the furniture or floor, playing lazy drinking games and shouting out song requests or making out. The thick, heavy smell of weed drifts out from the kitchen, and Liam can hear a few strums of a guitar while someone talks in a slightly slurred, solemn voice about the stars and galaxies and how small everything on earth is until there’s a pause and then the inevitable _anyway . . . here’s Wonderwall._ The person singing isn’t half bad, but Liam wonders if anyone ever gets sick of that song, or least sick of hearing it at parties.

“Well, if it isn’t my dreadful duo.” 

“Speak of the devil, Lou,” Niall says with a grin. “We were just chatting bout ya.” His eyes land on something beyond Louis’ shoulder, and his smile widens. “And who’s this?”

“This?” Louis says casually, and Liam turns to see him smirking. “Oh, this is Harry and—”

_Oh, please no, Louis, please no—_

“—his friend Zayn.”

_Fuck you._

“Harry, Zayn, this is Liam and Niall.”

“Hey,” says Harry. He’s impossibly smiley and Liam doesn’t know whether he’s drunk or if he’s just naturally really happy. “You lads are on the footie team with Louis, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Niall says, still with a shit-eating grin. “Liam’s the co-captain. I’m just the goalie, bro.”

Louis finally catches Liam’s eye and gives him a smug smile like he’s been planning this all along. “Oh, I think Zayn knows who Liam is.”

Niall frowns for a moment, and then his eyes go big. “Oh, so _this_ is who Liam r—”

“Yeah—er—Liam and I’ve met. Briefly.” Zayn gives Liam a sort of half-smile, fingers wrapping and unwrapping around one wrist—a nervous tick, maybe, a tiny detail that Liam allows himself to get stuck on because it’s easier than looking the other boy in the eyes.

“Good, so we all know each other,” Louis says lazily. Liam can tell from his air of self-satisfaction that he’s been charming the pants off Harry and knows it. “I’ll get us all something to drink, and we can all sit and get to know each other.” 

He walks—no, _saunters_ is the word—to the kitchen, hips swinging in a way Liam knows they don’t usually. He tries not to snort.

“Louis’ talked about you two a lot,” Harry chirps, looking at them both with bright eyes. 

“Oh,” Liam says. 

“I woulda thought he would be talkin’ about something else,” Niall says, suggestively waggled eyebrows and all. Harry doesn’t seem to pick up on the hint.

“So y’know Zayn, Liam? He’s pretty new here.”

“Yeah,” Liam says. He feels vaguely stupid, partially because what little alcohol he’s drunk seems to be making him tongue-tied, and also because it seems ridiculous to pretend like he hasn’t nearly killed someone here. 

“You’re making new friends!” Harry says to Zayn. “I’m so proud.”

“Ah, fuck off,” Zayn says quietly, shoving at Harry with a grin. 

Louis comes stumbling back, somehow carrying five plastic cups of punch without completely soaking himself. He passes them out with the benevolent air of a king blessing his subjects—and wow, his chat with Harry must have gone really well if he’s this confident—and then flings himself down on the nearest piece of furniture. Liam and Niall sit down next to him automatically, and after a moment’s hesitation and a quickly exchanged glance, Zayn and Harry do too so they’re all squeezed into one sofa without any room to move. Louis looks astronomically pleased to be so close to Harry. Liam’s just glad Zayn is at the other end of the sofa.

The person playing Wonderwall in the other room has finally shut up, letting a slow, heavy R&B song with a bass Liam can feel in his chest thud through the room. Zayn is slowly nodding along to it, whispering a lyric to himself here and there; Liam’s eyes are drawn to him like a moth to a flame, drawn to his golden skin and golden eyes and the single spot of gold in his hair, drawn to the way his fingers still coil and uncoil nervously around his wrist, the way his eyes fall half shut when the bass hits a new low. 

It only lasts a minute before Zayn glances over at him and then smiles sheepishly like Liam caught him at an unexpectedly vulnerable moment. Liam offers him an apologetic shrug and then quickly looks away. He thinks boys like Zayn will be the death of him. 

“So you’re from up North as well then, yeah?” Louis asks when he catches Liam’s eye again, and for the first time since Harry and Zayn had showed up, Liam’s grateful for him.

“Yeah, Bradford,” Zayn says. “S’in Yorkshire, like. Came here in June.”

“What do y’know, I’m a Yorkshire lad meself,” Louis says in delight, his accent thickening like it always does when he talks about the North. “Haven’t lived there in years, though.”

“Yeah . . . s’nice up there, innit.”

“Miss it at all?”

Zayn shrugs with one shoulder almost warily, and he and Harry exchange an unreadable glance. “Parts of it, like. Miss me mates.”

“Well,” Louis says with the kind of drunken warmth he only produces when he’s properly plastered and feeling sorry for someone, “you’ve got new mates, yeah? We’ll be ‘is mates, won’t we, lads?”

Niall arches a lazy eyebrow, taking a deep swig from his cup. “Sure, we will, an’ all. Proper mates. We can ‘ave a secret treehouse somewhere.”

“Oi, shut it, Horan. M’trying to make me fellow Northern brother feel welcome.”

Liam chokes back a snort and turns to Harry and Zayn. “Sorry for them. They like to bicker like an old married couple when they’ve had a bit much to drink, yeah.”

“Yeah, s’all right,” Zayn mumbles, a sort of tolerant warmth in his eyes when he glances up at Liam. “It’s nice of them to include me—us.”

“Better than getting hit by a car, yeah?” Liam quips without thinking, and then cringes and wishes he could somehow magically seal his mouth shut so he could just stop embarrassing himself for once. He hears Louis and Niall snicker and jostle each other with their elbows and feels like sinking into the floor.

Zayn just grins at him with genuine amusement, like he’s simultaneously surprised and pleased by Liam’s pathetic wit, tongue pressed against his teeth and honey-gold eyes crinkled up. “Dunno, being thrown into the social lion’s den of Wolverhampton is starting to be almost as scary as getting the underside view of someone’s fender. This Grimshaw guy throws a wicked party.”

“Grimmy always pulls through,” Harry say with a touch of pride, and Louis rolls his eyes and jumps back in the conversation. 

“Grimmy knows how to throw a good party and that’s about it,” he scoffs. “He’s just a sarcastic prick who thinks he’s funny.”

“Wow, sounds like _someone_ I know,” Liam says under his breath, and he knows Louis hears but the smaller boy pretends he didn’t.

“Grimmy’s a good bloke,” Harry protests, and then he and Louis fall into some sort of flirting ritual that looks like arguing, but, judging from the way they send each other covert smiles, probably isn’t.

“I love being a third wheel,” Niall says loudly, and then stands up, swaying a little. “Anyone ‘ave the time?”

“Yeah, it’s—” Zayn thumbs open his phone and glances down. “—one fifteen.”

“Shit, I’ve got be going,” Liam says, jumping to his feet as well, and trying not to stumble when a faint wave of dizziness hits him. “It was nice meeting you both.”

“See you around sometime, yeah?” Zayn asks, standing up and stretching.

“Um—yeah. Yeah, I—”

“We should all meet up sometime,” Louis says, standing up and dragging Harry up with him. “You lads are cool, we’re cool, we should do it.”

“Yes!” Harry beams at him so hard Liam has to check that Louis hasn’t turned into the actual sun. “Zayn needs more friends, I love you guys already, let’s _please_ meet up when we’re not all drunk.”

“We should go for pizza,” Niall says, because obviously that’s his go-to way for making friends. “Giovani’s has great pizza.”

“Pizza on Monday after school, then?” Louis says with his chin tilted up in that way that doesn’t allow you to disagree with him. 

“Pizza on Monday,” Harry says with a soft smile on his face, glancing at Louis out of the corner of his eye. Liam thinks _oh,_ and then, _so this might actually work out,_ and then catches Zayn’s eye. Zayn gives him a matter-of-fact eyebrow raise, and then leans in close— _so fucking close, holy shit_ —to whisper, “Remember when I said I went and watched your tryouts with a mate?”

“Yeah,” Liam whispers back, trying not to get stuck on the way Zayn’s breath feels tickling warmly against his ear. 

“Yeah, well, Harry was the mate, and he really only wanted to watch Louis, if y’know what I mean.” He draws back and winks at Liam like they’re sharing a secret now, and Liam feels like he might just die. 

“I’ll see you both Monday, then,” Louis says loudly, pulling Liam back into reality. “Leemo, are y’driving?”

“I’m probably the most sober, yeah,” Liam says. 

“And how are you two getting home? Liam’s car is a piece of rubbish but we could probably squeeze you in. Or at least one of you.” It’s clear which one of them Louis is really offering a ride to, but Zayn looks more amused than offended.

“Thanks, but we’re good,” Harry says serenely. “Nick’s giving me a lift.”

Louis looks comically dismayed.

“And Zayn?” Liam says a little too quickly. “Y’got a ride, mate?”

“S’all taken care of; I’m goin’ with Harry.”

“All right. See y’Monday,” Louis says, clapping Harry on the back and giving Zayn a friendly nod. “Take care of your hangovers tomorrow.”

The five of them part ways at the front door; Liam casts a last glance at Harry and Zayn on the porch right before he gets into his car. Harry’s watching them go with a dimpled smile wreathing his face, but Zayn’s looking down at his shoes, biting his lip and slowly bobbing his head to the music that fades as Liam drives away, a faint thud that reverberates into his chest and then floats away into the stars.

★★★

“They’re late,” Louis whines, bumping his head repeatedly against Liam’s shoulder. “Liam, I’ve been waiting my entire life for this moment and they’re _late._ ”

“Did they say why?” Niall says. “And can we just go ahead and order if they’re gonna be late?”

“Apparently they got held up in the ‘art room’ or something,” Louis says, sketching disbelieving air quotes around the words like he can’t believe that someone would ever delay pizza for art. “Why am I crushing on a hipster bike-riding overly smiley art-loving freak?”

“Good question,” Niall says. “Can we get the pizza already?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Louis rests his head against Liam’s arm and waves a tired arm at Niall. “Large meat lovers, you know the drill.”

Liam absently strokes Louis’ head and watches as Niall waves the server over and rattles off their usual order. “I’m sure they’ll show up eventually, Lou.”

Louis just sighs dramatically like this is the _worst thing_ to ever happen to him, which Liam knows for a fact it’s not. “Maybe it’s just not meant to be. The next text he sends me is going to say that he can’t make.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Liam says patiently. “If they got held up, there’s nothing we can do.”

“Yeah, now please stop with the melodramatics,” Niall adds, and Louis lets out an offended huff. 

“Just because you’ve gone nine months without getting laid doesn’t mean—”

“Wrong,” Niall says immediately. “Banged that college girl Demi at Nick’s party.”

Louis lets out another huff and straightens up. “I don’t want to hear about your sexual escapades, Horan.”

“Just tellin’ it how it is. Not my fault there’s not another gay bloke for a ten mile radius.”

“Well, there’s Liam, but—”

“Not gay,” Liam says automatically.

“Bisexual,” Louis concedes. “You’ve got the hots for blokes, so you count. And there’s Nick. And Harry? I think, anyway. And then there’s usually a few lads who are at least curious from the uni. So shut it, Horan.” He jostles Liam with his elbow. “Y’think Zayn might be into boys? Like in case this thing with Harry doesn’t work out.”

“Please stop.”

“Ooh, I think Liam’s got a crush. The big Payno is coming out to play.”

Liam groans and lets his head thud forward onto the table. “I think I hate you.”

“Oh, please.”

“Soz, you’re right. I _know_ I hate you.”

Louis opens his mouth to reply, but the pizza makes a timely arrival and he gets distracted.

“Well, this looks good.”

Liam looks up to see Harry standing a few feet away, one hip cocked and a signature grin on his face, Zayn standing a bit behind him.

“What kind is it?”

“It’s—um—well—” and Liam has never seen Louis this flustered; it’s refreshing “—it’s meat lovers, y’know, got all the meat on it and everything—we always get it after footie games? It’s really good.”

Harry plops himself down next to Louis—Liam watches as his friend turns bright pink—and reaches out for a slice.

“So has it got like—pepperoni on it?” Zayn asks as he sits down between Harry and Niall. 

“Yeah, and sausage ‘n’ stuff. It’s good shit, trust me,” Niall says, offering him a piece.

“Um,” Zayn says, looking a bit uncomfortable, “actually, I, uh—”

Harry looks up at him, frowns a little, and they have the sort of silent conversation you’re only able to have with your best friend. Then Harry suddenly waves the server over and gives Zayn a small nod. “Can he get veggie pizza or something?”

“Yeah, of course,” the waiter says, and heads off again. 

“Are you a vegetarian or summat?” Louis asks, looking between Harry and Zayn with a perplexed expression. 

“Um—no, I’m Muslim, actually? And we can’t eat pork, so, uh, no sausage for me.”

“Oh.” Louis mulls that over for a second, and just when Liam’s beginning to be scared that he’ll say something uneducated, he nods. “Okay. Veggie for you, next time. Got it.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says quietly, almost gratefully, and then looks down. Liam wonders—hopes—that he hadn’t been expecting them to say something rude. 

“Is it rude to start eating if everyone at the table hasn’t gotten their food yet?” Niall asks through a mouthful of pizza, successfully breaking the mood. 

“Probably,” Liam says, but Zayn just shrugs and laughs. 

“S’fine, you guys can get started, I don’t mind.”

“My kinda man,” Niall says, and continues eating without further ado. Liam watches as Harry and Louis dig in themselves, and then shakes his head when he’s offered a slice. 

“Not hungry?” Zayn asks.

“I’ll wait for you,” Liam says. 

“First thing you need to know about Liam is that he’s unnecessarily nice,” Louis says dismissively, and Liam just shrugs and toys with his napkin. Zayn quirks an eyebrow at him and he shrugs again, feeling ridiculous now.

“Unnecessarily nice,” Zayn repeats, and there’s a softness in his eyes that makes Liam feel a lot less stupid. “Don’t think there’s such a thing as being too nice, actually.”

Liam kind of wants to sink into the floor, but only if he can bring Zayn with him. 

★★★

The first footie game of the season sneaks up on them far too quickly. One moment they’re sitting and eating pizza in Giovani’s, and the next they’re in their last practice being yelled at by Coach Paddy and Louis is too quiet to not be stressed, whatever he says, and Liam feels like he’s gonna throw up. It’s their first match this season as team captains, and if they fuck it up—if he fucks it up—everyone is going to say they don’t deserve it. 

Liam wants more than anything to deserve it. 

Everyone keeps telling him he’s gonna be great, that the team is great this year, that he and Louis are an unstoppable pair, a force to be reckoned with, but all he can think is _don’t mess it up, don’t mess it up, don’t mess it up._ He can’t afford to—not for the team, the freshman who want so badly to win their first match and the seniors like Niall who want a great last season, not for Louis, to whom football is everything, who’s been working towards this his whole high school career, and not for himself. Not when the memory of being unwanted, of being shoved to the ground and ignored and treated like shit is still so, so fresh in his head.

Paddy keeps them working until it starts to rain, and even then Liam doesn’t feel like he’s done enough practice. 

“Let’s hope this sodding rain pisses off before tomorrow, lads. Get some rest, yeah?”

The team grunts its collective assent and starts to traipse off the pitch in twos and threes.

“Come get cleaned up, Payno, yeah?” Louis says, walking over to him. “Big day tomorrow, got to get your beauty sleep.”

“M’gonna stay here and practice a bit more,” Liam mumbles. “Just—to make sure.”

“In the rain?”

“I don’t care if I get wet. Just—” He breaks off, but Louis seems to understand anyway.

“Yeah, all right. Don’t work yourself too hard, love.”

Liam just nods and goes back out on the pitch. A few of the younger teammates who don’t know the way he gets before matches give him funny looks, but the older ones just give him a fond salute, and Paddy kicks him the ball without a second glance. 

He’s not sure how long he trains before he hears his name, but he’s definitely soaked when he looks up to see Zayn standing at the edge of the pitch. 

“Liam!” There’s an undeniable fondness in the way he drags out the name, and Liam still marvels over the fact that he knows it’s Zayn from the way it sounds like _Leeyum,_ because that’s a thing now, the five of them are a thing. 

He tries to stop thinking and jogs over to where Zayn’s standing, wrapped in a hoodie against the rain. “Hi.”

“Trying to work yourself to death, babes?”

Liam shrugs. “I always get uptight before a game.”

“Give yourself a break then, yeah?” Zayn reaches over and slings an arm around Liam’s wet shoulders, and Liam can feel himself soaking through Zayn’s sweatshirt but he can’t bring himself to move away, just curls into the warmth. “You won’t be doing anyone any good if you catch cold out here in the rain.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the responsible one,” Liam grumbles, but he runs off as Zayn gives him a little shove in the direction of the locker rooms. 

“You never are when it comes to yourself, babe,” Zayn shouts after him.

When Liam comes out, freshly showered and in dry clothes, the rain has slowed and the sun is starting to come out. Zayn’s still waiting for him, his damp hoodie now slung over one arm and his few scattered tattoos stark in the faint sunlight. 

“Done?” he asks when he sees Liam.

“Yeah.”

“You have your car?”

“Yeah?”

“All right, we’re going to go get ice cream,” Zayn says, heading off towards the parking lot. 

“What?” Liam follows him without even thinking.

“You’re gonna drive us to the ice cream parlor, and I’m gonna buy you ice cream,” Zayn says, like this is a normal thing to do. 

“My game’s tomorrow, I can’t—” 

Zayn stops in his tracks and turns back to look at Liam. “Liam. _Leeyum_. Listen. Let me buy you ice cream, okay? I know about the game tomorrow, but. Please?”

“Are you forcing me to go on a date with you?” Liam jokes, and then immediately regrets it.

Zayn scuffs the toe of his Doc Martens into the ground and then looks up, one side of his mouth quirked up like he can’t quite smile properly. “Nah, I wouldn’t do that to ya,” he says finally with a faint, wry grin. “You’ve got the hots for Smith, yeah?”

“Only if you’ve been talking to Louis.” 

There’s this weird tension between them for a moment, and then Zayn snorts and then starts walking again. “C’mon, Payne. We’ve got ice cream to eat.”

★★★

“Cookie dough is the best, and nothing you say will ever change that,” Liam says. “You saying it’s not the best doesn’t make it not the best. Your opinion does nothing to change that, Zayn.” 

“I’m not saying it’s not good, I’m just saying it’s not the best. Caramel, for instance, is better.” He holds up his cone of caramel ice cream as proof. “Mint chocolate chip is also better.”

“You’re insane. Mint chocolate chip is nowhere near as good as cookie dough, and you know it. You’re just saying that to piss me off.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, babe,” Zayn says, but he looks rather pleased with himself anyway as he licks a long stripe into his cone. 

“You’re bloody ridiculous, is what you are.”

“You know you love me.” He gives Liam an ever-so-innocent look and then licks his ice cream again, eyelashes fanning out over his cheekbones. Liam squirms a little and wonders whether he does it on purpose, because there’s no way he can just be unaware of the way he looks—not just now, when he’s happily slurping away at his ice cream, but all the fucking time. 

“I’ll love you if you come to the game tomorrow,” Liam counters, trying to get his mind back on track. 

“Course I will,” Zayn says immediately. Then he pauses. “Don’t think I’ve ever been to a high school footie game before, actually.”

Liam frowns. “Didn’t you have a team at your old school?”

Zayn shrugs. “Yeah, my friends and I never really went, though. Most of the footie-going crowd didn’t like us very much.” He shrugs again, a finality in his expression that bites back any more questions on Liam’s tongue. 

“I’m glad you’re coming tomorrow,” he says instead, because he is. There’s something comforting about the fact that he knows there will be someone in the crowd cheering for him even if he’s doing terribly. 

“Harry wouldn’t have it any other way. He’d never pass up the chance to see Louis running around sweaty and in shorts.” 

“And you’re coming because—?” Liam teases.

Zayn presses a hand to his chest, a mock-offended look on his face. “Me? I’m coming for the thrill of the game, of course. Definitely not because of the sweaty fit men in shorts. God, no.”

“Oh, sorry, yeah, should’ve guessed that. You’re an avid football fan, I should’ve seen that right away.”

“Of course I am! I love seeing a good—uh—right mid field winger play.”

Liam feels a laugh bubbling up inside of him. “That’s not a real—”

“Shh, shh, yes it is.”

“You know all the rules and everything, too, though, right?”

“Sure, I do. You kick the ball into the goal and try not to get your own balls kicked while you’re at it.”

Liam bursts out laughing and Zayn watches him with a pleased smile on his face. “You’re gonna do great tomorrow, Liam.”

Liam draws in a deep breath and holds it in until it burns, letting it out in one big gush. “That’s the plan, yeah.”

“You will,” Zayn says with this complete, total confidence, like he’s already seen the outcome of tomorrow’s match. “I know you will.”

★★★

(They win.)

(Liam goes for pizza with the team, and Harry and Zayn stop by to congratulate them.)

(Zayn gives him a fist bump and rubs his knuckles over Liam’s buzz cut like _I told you so_ and Liam thinks about pulling the smaller boy into his lap in front of the whole team, even though he’d get a few odd looks.)

★★★

“Katy Perry is a pop icon, okay, you can’t—”

“Her music is shit,” Zayn says firmly, shaking his head.

“It doesn’t matter whether or not you like her, Zayn. She’s an icon, okay?”

“It’s _shit_ ,” Zayn repeats, pulling a face at Liam as if to say _can you believe this?_

“Some of her music is catchy,” Liam says cautiously, and Zayn throws up both hands. 

“Louis’ obviously corrupted you.”

Louis snickers from the backseat. “Not my fault that her music is played everywhere, because she’s a _pop icon._ ”

“Katy Perry is good. So’s Taylor Swift. And Justin Bieber, too.”

“I’m giving up on you, Niall.”

“Just cos you and Harry are music elitists—” Louis starts, but Zayn shakes his head.

“There’s a difference between having good taste and being a music elitist. Katy Perry is shit. If Harry was here, he’d agree with me, and then you’d agree with him, cos he owns your arse, mate.”

Louis splutters indignantly but conspicuously does not deny the claim.

“Leeyum,” Zayn says, and Liam’s not about to look away from the road, but he knows Zayn’s got that warm, teasing smile on his face that’ll coax anything out of anyone. “Liam, please let me save you from these two.”

Liam sighs long-sufferingly and digs around until he finds the aux cord before handing it to Zayn. “Plug us in, bro.”

Zayn grins like a kid let loose in a candy shop and plugs his phone in; Louis and Niall throw up a storm of groaning and protests of _you’ve never let us play our music in the car._

“It’s because you two have shit music taste,” Zayn says, and puts on a Frank Ocean track that Liam’s never heard before. Louis sings along in a warbling falsetto that makes Niall laugh helplessly, curling up in cackling spasms. Zayn rolls his eyes and turns it up a little, turning to Liam with a hopeful look like he’s searching for approval.

It’s a good song, good enough that Liam tears his eyes away from the road—he’s still paralyzed with fear or hitting someone—and blocks his ears to get lost in it for a moment, to watch Zayn sink into the music like he did at the party where Louis and had introduced the five of them, eyes half closed and head bobbing along to the music like he agrees with whatever the softly crooned lyrics are telling him, like he believes in the unspoken words of the chords and harmony. Liam’s never seen someone lose themselves that completely in a piece of music. He thinks it’s sort of enchanting. 

“Oi, Payno, eyes on the road,” Louis barks from the backseat, and Liam jolts, turning back to look through the windshield. “Don’t want to hit someone else.”

“Yeah, sorry,” he mumbles. 

“I don’t think we should let Zayn sit in the front anymore,” Niall muses. “He seems to be distracting our good upstanding Liam.”

“Shut it.”

“I think sometimes you need some distracting,” Zayn mutters, so quietly that Liam’s not entirely sure he was meant to hear it. 

And Liam wonders what would happen if they were alone in the car—wonders what music Zayn would play, and what he’d say about it, wonders what he’d look like with that soft, teasing smile, trying to coax out a laugh or a compliment from Liam, wonders how he’d get lost in the songs he’d play. Wonders how Zayn would try to distract him if they were the only ones who’d see. 

Zayn plays a song by a singer called Andrew Belle next, and Liam takes note of the name so later, in his room when no one’s there, he can download it and try to get lost in Zayn’s mind. 

★★★

“So, we need to talk,” Niall says casually when he’s at the gym with Liam a few days later.

“Let’s not, actually.”

Niall frowns and puts down his weight—usually he’d hit the treadmill, but his knee’s been giving him some issues. “I didn’t even say what about yet.”

“Nothing ever good comes after _we need to talk_ ,” Liam says stubbornly. “It can wait.”

“When are you going to act on the fact that you fancy the shit out of Zayn?” Niall asks. “Don’t bother with the whole denial thing, Payno, m’not in the mood for that shite today.”

“I said it can wait, Niall.”

“Just answer the damn question.”

“It can—”

“Oh my god.” Niall stretches and rolls out his shoulders before turning to face Liam. “Do you think I have a chance with Eleanor?”

“What?” Liam’s used to Niall’s rapid-fire topic changes by now, but this one comes out of the left field. “Louis’ cousin?”

The other boy shrugs with a careless grin. “Yeah, why not?”

“To be quite honest, mate, I don’t think you’ve got much of a chanvce. Like, she’s in uni. Don’t think she wants to be screwing around with some high school bloke. And I think she told me she has a boyfriend; brought him to meet her parents proper, and all.”

“Hmph.” There’s brief pause, and then Niall’s grin is back in place. “So you and Zayn.”

“Nothing there, mate. Dunno if he even likes blokes.”

There a long silence, and then Niall says, “If I had to make a list of all the things that I hate, number one would be Louis denying he’s been crushing on fucking Harry since freshman year. Number two would be you denying you have feelings for anyone ever.”

“I didn’t deny I had feelings for—”

“Danielle, yeah, but that was a bloody year ago. Longer. I want to know the deepest secrets of your little secretly romantic heart, Payno. What are friends for?”

“For not prying into your business,” Liam mutters. 

Niall rolls his eyes, and Liam swears that Louis is truly starting to rub off on him. “Oh, please. I just told you I like someone who’s older than me, has a boyfriend, definitely isn’t into me, and goes to uni. Dunno why it’s so hard for you to admit that you like someone who’s your age, completely single, goes to our school, is your friend, and is completely, obviously, disgustingly pining over you.”

“Zayn,” Liam says with all his remaining dignity, “is definitely not pining over me.”

“My _arse_ ,” Niall says forcefully, grabs a towel, and heads towards the shower, flinging his hands up in the air dramatically. “I tried, Payno, okay? I tried. My god.”

Liam just rolls his eyes right back and picks up his own towel. “No one asked you to try anything, though.”

“Yeah, all right.” Niall stops and picks up Liam’s phone to check the time—it’s a habit the whole footie team has, just picking up whose ever phone is nearest to glance at the time—and then pulls up short, a broad grin stretching over his face. “What’s this y’got playin’ on your phone here, mate?”

Liam frowns and walks over to see the cover art of the _channel ORANGE_ album on his phone left over from when he’d been playing it in the car earlier. “Um. Frank Ocean?”

“Yeah?” Niall looks like he’s just executed a fine trap, but Liam hasn’t caught on yet. “So you’re not listening to Kanye on the way to the gym anymore then?” 

“I just—well, Zayn played that one song in the car the other day, and—” Liam suddenly gets it. “Listen—”

Niall sets down the phone and backs away into the showers with a knowing smile. “All right, Liam.”

“That doesn’t mean anything, Niall—”

“Okay, I believe you.”

“Niall . . .”

“I said I believe you, Leemo.”

“It’s just a good album, okay?”

Niall gives him one last grin and steps into the showers. Liam is so fucked.

★★★

They lose their next game. They don’t go out to celebrate after, but Niall and Louis and Liam go to Louis’ basement and stay there, drinking Red Bull silently and playing over the game again and again in their heads. All Liam can think is _you should have done better, then must have been some way for you to save it._

Niall’s stoic like he always is, knocking back two cans before turning on the television, his face impassive as he flicks through the channels. Liam knows that inside, he’s quietly assessing the goals he let in, replaying them until he knows exactly what went wrong. It’s similar to what Liam does after a bad game; they’re alike in that sense, that obsessiveness to relive and improve, even if they show it in astronomically different ways. Louis’ different—he huddles in the corner of the sofa, shoulders hunched, and throws out snappish remarks every few minutes. He’s not thinking about the game anymore—no, he’s already planning for the next game, already planning for next season when they’ll get a rematch with today’s team. He’s planning revenge, planning victory, thinking about how many games they’ll have to win to go out with a bang this year. 

“One of those fuckers called me a faggot during halftime,” Louis says suddenly. 

Liam and Niall both turn to look at him. Louis stares resolutely at the ceiling.

“Said it right to my fucking face. And Calvin was there next to me.” Louis’s face is stony. “Few years ago Cal would have punched that bloke’s face in even if it meant getting kicked off the team.” 

“What did he d—”

“He laughed. That fucking bastard stood there and laughed.” Louis looks bitterer than Liam’s ever seen him. “He laughed and then walked away. Didn’t say a fuckin’ thing.”

“What a fucking worthless piece of shit,” Niall says. “D’you want me ‘n’ Liam to go fuck him up?”

“Not really, no.” Louis looks down at his hands and then abruptly turns his back on them both.

“I’m sorry, Lou.” Liam feels helpless because he knows exactly how this feels, exactly what it’s like to have a name thrown at you like a fist, what it’s like to have everyone around you stand there and watch you go down. 

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” Louis says after a long moment. “I want him t’be sorry. But I know he’s not.”

“It hurts, doesn’t it,” Liam says softly, and Louis nods once, a jerky bob of his head. “I know it does.”

“He isn’t worth shit anyway,” Niall says and Louis nods again before scrubbing a palm across his eyes and turning back around.

“We have any more Red Bull?”

“Yeah.” Niall tosses him a can and starts flicking through the channels again.

“You know,” Louis says conversationally after cracking open the can, “I think I’m gonna ask Harry on a date.”

Niall spits out a mouthful of drink. “What? Wait—really?”

“Yeah.” He looks serenely at the television. “If I’m gonna be a faggot I’m gonna do it my way.”

Half of Liam wants to tell him not to call himself that, but Louis looks like he could crush the world with his fingertips right now, so he stays quiet. The other half knows that you have to claim a word before it stops hurting, and he would do anything to see Louis stop breaking.

“I think you and Harry will be great together,” he says finally. 

“We’ll be the bloody couple of the century.”

“Yeah, and all that.”

“And Calvin can go fuck ‘imself off the edge of a cliff. He’s not even that good of an offense player.”

“Damn straight.”

Louis sends Niall an amused look. “Yeah, and he’s pretty damn straight.”

“Well—not what I meant, but yeah.” 

Louis nods, this time firmly, like he’s convincing himself of something. “Yeah. Yeah. Fuck him. Fuck that. M’gonna ask Harry out tomorrow, lads. It’ll be brilliant. Fuck that bloke from the other team. Fuck that other team. Fuck ‘em all.”

Louis gets like this sometimes, gets in this mood where he doesn’t care with such a passion that it’s almost admirable. He’ll loudly refuse to give a shit about anything, will lie on his bed for hours with punk music blaring in his headphones, will get into a reckless phase that usually ends up with him ensnaring Liam and sometimes Niall into stupid plans that—nine times out of ten—end up crashing and burning in the most spectacular way. It’s the way he deals with disappointment, the way he copes with feeling like he’s not good enough. Liam can’t decide if that’s healthier than the obsession with improvement that he himself harbors, the exhausting replay of everything he’s done wrong, the endless loop of _do better next time work harder next time don’t fail next time—_

“Liam?”

He knows something must have shown on his face, but he hoists up a smile anyway. “M’good.”

“You did good today, Liam,” Niall says firmly. “You did the fuckin’ best y’could.”

Liam grins a little, rubs the back of his neck with fingers he hadn’t even noticed were trembling until now. “Yeah, well, my best wasn’t good enough, yeah?”

There’s a long silence, and then Liam stands up. 

“Think I’ll be going now, lads. M’knackered.”

“All right.” Louis’ eyes are soft with understanding, and Liam wishes that people wouldn’t indulge his anxiety like this. It just makes him feel worse. “Get in a good kip, and sleep in. It’s Saturday tomorrow, so cut y’self a break now, yeah?”

Liam just nods. “See you boys later then.”

“Bye, Li.”

He drives home in silence, with nothing playing on the radio. The car seems huge and empty without the usual noise, making the back of his neck tingle like he’s being watched. It’s nighttime now, and no one’s on the road; his parents are probably on the verge of calling him. They’d been at the game, but after making sure that they knew where he was going afterwards, they’d left at the end. Sometimes his mum and dad will take him and Louis and Niall out to dinner if they lose, because they know how the boys can beat themselves up about it, but they also know when they need their space to process the loss. 

And it feels a little bit stupid, how important it is to Liam, but he’s nothing if not a perfectionist, and sometimes—sometimes it feels like this is all he’s good at. Like this is the only reason people like him, like without football, he’s nothing. It’s the only ticket he has to a good uni, the only way he’s ever getting out of Wolverhampton. So when people tell him to stop ticking off his losses, he always struggles to find a way to tell him that he can’t. This is it. This is all he’s got. 

He pulls into his driveway and puts the car into park, tilting his head upwards to look at the stars through the windshield. There’s more of them than usual; maybe it’s just a particularly clear night, but it seems like he can stare into the sky for miles, for light years. They’re impossibly far away and impossible to count.

He turns off the car. He goes inside.

★★★

The next morning he doesn’t wake up until ten, and the lingering heaviness in his chest makes Liam want to skip out on his morning run. It’s sort of late to be going on running away, but he puts on his gear and heads downstairs to eat something so he’ll have to energy to run.

“You could give yourself a break for a day, Liam,” his dad says mildly. He’s sitting at the kitchen counter downstairs, drinking coffee and scrolling through yesterday’s news.

“Nah, s’all right; I want to,” Liam says, and his father just nods, because they’re alike in that respect. They both have that stubborn determination that won’t let them miss a single responsibility when they feel they have to live up to something. 

“Well, there’s cereal in the cabinet; we bought it on the way home last night,” his dad says. Liam grabs the box and shakes out half a bowl before pouring in milk. Neither of them say anything about the game last night, but he knows that if he brought it up, his father would just say he’s proud of him anyway. People sometimes think that Liam’s parents are the ones that push him so hard, but the reality is that they’ve never forced him into working on football. The punishing motivation all comes from himself. 

The sun is beating down harder than usual today—it’s why he usually runs earlier than this—so halfway through his usual route he stops in the park to have a bit of a rest. The residue of the previous day is still taking up his mind, creeping into the spaces between thoughts until he can’t breathe under the weight of his own insufficiency. 

_You could have stopped that bloke who called Lou those names, you could have intercepted the ball when Calum fumbled with it, you could have done something after Jordan fell and twisted his ankle, you could have—_

His phone buzzes in his pocket, breaking his train of thought, and he checks it out of habit even though usually he has it on silent during his run. 

Zayn: hey u ok? x

He frowns and taps out a reply almost without thinking; he should start running again soon, but he doesn’t want Zayn to worry about him for whatever reason the other boy is concerned.

Liam: yea mate???

Zayn: oh ok aha just makin sure u weren’t beating yourself up bout yesterday!

That’s enough to make Liam suppress a grin into his shoulder because—well, because.

Liam: oh yeah I’m good!! thnx 4 chekcin tho ur nice

Zayn: no such thing as being too nice remember ? :) x

Zayn: what u doin?

Liam: bout 2 go for the second part of me run!! Doing it late ttoday lol

Zayn: oh u want to run over here? I'm making early lunch for my sis, u could have some if ur hungry

Liam: just ate but ill stop by anyway if u want

Zayn: yess run over here rn u athlete….if ur not too far lol

A few minutes later Zayn texts him his address—he’s actually not that far—and Liam hauls himself back up on his feet and jogs off tiredly. The heat has taken something out of him, and being in a cool house sounds lovely right now.

It’s only after he rings the doorbell that he realizes that he’s sweaty and disgusting, and Zayn probably looks amazing like he always does, and this is not a good situation to be in at all. He’s about three seconds away from sprinting away from the porch and running home when the door swings open and he’s confronted with a girl who looks a few years younger than he is. She bears striking resemblance to Zayn and a bit of a smirk.

“Liam?” she asks, eyes sweeping up and down his entire frame before settling on his face, looking more pleased than ever.  
“Erm. Yeah.”

“I’m Waliyah.” She opens the door wider and motions him in. He shuffles into the foyer, ducking his head a little because he’s starting to feel embarrassed for no real reason. 

“Just kick off your shoes and leave them here,” Waliyah instructs, and then calls down the hallway, “’Ey, Zayn! Your boy’s here!”

“Just bring him into the kitchen!” Zayn’s voice calls back from the end of the hallway. Waliyah motions for Liam to follow her again, and sets off down. Liam trails after her a little awkwardly, trying to reassure himself that this was a good decision. 

They turn abruptly into a kitchen, where Zayn’s standing at the stove, stirring something that smells of meat and spices and bobbing his head along to the music coming from a phone that’s plugged into a set of speakers on the counter. 

“Leeyum!” He turns around with a smile that crinkles his eyes up and presses his tongue against his teeth. “Hey.”

Liam tries to smile back, but his throat is suddenly dry because Zayn looks so genuinely happy to see him and also—well, also because he’s not a wearing a shirt, just a pair of grey joggers that ride low on his narrow hips, and his hair is soft and rumpled like he just got out of bed.

_It takes someone to come around to show you how . . ._

“Hi,” Liam says.

“Food’s gonna be done in a minute,” Zayn promises, “and then we can watch a film or summat. I’ve got FIFA too, if you’re in the mood to completely destroy my arse at it.”

“He’s really bad at it,” Waliyah says with a grin. “Trust me, you could kill him at that game.”

Zayn just rolls his eyes fondly and shrugs. “Yeah, it’s true.” He turns back to the stove, hips swaying a bit to the tune of _sometimes you’ve got to bleed to know that you’re alive and have a soul._ “Make y’self comfortable, bro. Sure y’don’t want food?”

“The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” Waliyah says serenely. “Are you trying something, perhaps, Zayn?”

Liam watches Zayn’s ears flush red. 

“Oi, shut it.”

“I’m fine, but thanks,” Liam says. “It smells really good, though. What is it?”

“Chicken biryani,” Zayn says brightly. “Usually I’d be eating crisps in my bed at arse o’clock on a Saturday morning, but this one—” he jerks his head at Waliyah “—managed to sweet talk me into this.”

_Take me higher than I’ve ever been . . ._

“Hate to break it to ya, mate, but it’s no longer arse o’clock. It’s actually past eleven.”

“That’s like the crack of dawn to Zayn,” his sister says as the song on the speakers changes to Jason Mraz’s I’m Yours. 

Zayn makes a conceding gesture like he can’t even protest that, but says, “You better shut it if y’want your food,” anyway.

Liam wonders if this what people talk about when they say they have butterflies in their stomach. It feels so oddly intimate, sitting here watching Zayn cook and bicker good-naturedly with his sister while he sings along to that stupid song from a few years ago, eyes squinty with sleep and hair mussed around the precise line of his cheekbones. It’s fascinating, how he can be made up of acute angles and razor sharp edges and yet looks so soft, how he’s at once confident and vulnerable, completely at home in his own skin while being so open to Liam. Something about this is making Liam’s stomach squirm, not with the anxiety and disappointment of a few hours ago but more like there’s something growing in his insides, a tiny sapling of shy affection and blossoming hope. 

“How’s footie going, Liam?” Waliyah asks, and Liam comes back to himself with a snap.

“Erm—how’d you know I play football?”

She rolls his eyes at Zayn. “This one. He never shuts up about you. And like—your friends and stuff. But you, mainly.”

Liam feels himself growing red, but that’s nothing compared to how uncomfortable Zayn looks. “Um—does he?”

“Oh, yeah.” Waliyah gives him a faux innocent look. “All the time, Liam. I mean it.”

“M’just.” Zayn’s fingers flicker open and closed over his wrist for a second, scuffing his bare toes over the tiled floor. “Just glad to have you lads. After last year.” He glances at Waliyah, who looks slightly repentant. “So for like the fifth time, Wali, y’can shut it.”

Liam wants to know what happened last year, but he’s decent enough not to pry. “Footie’s going okay,” he says finally, mainly just to fill the empty silence. “Um—we lost a game last night.” He feels Zayn’s eyes on him like the other boy is checking to see if he’s okay. “But we have a good team this year. So we should be all right.”

“I’m sure you lads will do brilliant. You did sick last night.” Zayn’s spooning the biryani onto a plate.

“We lost?”

Zayn throws him a grin, a flash of white teeth over his shoulder. “Still played a sick game, babe. Don’t knock y’self out worrying about it..”

“You don’t even know anything about football,” Liam says, shaking his head fondly and refusing to acknowledge the blush that’s seeping over his cheeks for what feels like the thousandth time in the last half hour.

“I know enough to know you’re brilliant at it,” Zayn retorts, handing a plate to Waliyah, who makes an appreciative noise and digs in. 

“You two need to stop your flirting,” she says, looking up. “It’s sickening.”

“We’re not—”

“It’s not like—”

“Sure, okay.” She picks up her plate and starts to walk to the doorway. “I’m gonna eat upstairs and leave you two to it. Thanks for cooking, bhai.”

“You’re the worst,” Zayn calls after her, and Liam can hear her laughing all the way up the stairs. Zayn rolls his eyes and then turns to Liam. “Lemme wash up a bit and then we’ll do something, yeah? Soz about the wait.”

“It’s all good; I don’t mind.” He watches as Zayn scrapes the leftover food into a container and puts it in the fridge. “What’s bhai mean?”

“Um.” Zayn squints at him a bit. “Like, brother, I guess? S’like an endearment, a bit, yeah?”

“What language?”

“Urdu.”

Liam’s impressed. “You never told me you could speak Urdu. Like, fluently, or—?”

“M’pretty decent at it.” He shrugs. “Fluently enough, just, like, conversational stuff.” He quirks the side of his lips up into a sort of self-mocking smile. “Couldn’t write a dissertation in it, if that’s what you’re asking. Dunno. S’not the type of the thing I really go around telling people, I guess.”

“I think it’s proper cool.”

Zayn gives him a half-grateful look. “Yeah.”

It feels like he should say something else, but the words get tangled up in his mind and then stuck in his throat, so he stays silent and holds onto the heavy warm feeling in his chest.

★★★

They play three games of FIFA and Zayn loses spectacularly every time. Liam honest to god might have been disappointed by the lack of a real challenge if Zayn hadn’t been so funny about it—trying to argue that he’d won even though Liam had scored seven points and he’d scored zero, trying to cover Liam’s eyes right before he scored. It makes Liam heart swell a little bigger every time, because he knows Zayn’s making an effort to cheer him up. 

The butterflies in his stomach are starting to test their wings, making his skin tingle and his insides squirm. Sometimes, Zayn will send him a quick sideways glance with those golden brown eyes so full of light, give him a lopsided smile, and scrub his fingers through the bristles of Liam’s buzz cut, and Liam’s skin burns along the imprint of his hand, face flushing under the other boy’s affectionate gaze. 

“What’s this song?”

“Oh, uh—” Zayn reaches over to check the phone. “The Front Bottoms? Dunno, used to like them a lot last year; now the guy’s voice kinda annoys me, like.”

“Oh.” Liam listens for a minute, and then shrugs. “I guess his voice is a bit unusual, yeah?”

“We can change it,” Zayn says. “Niall said you liked the Frank Ocean stuff?”

Liam feels a flush creep up his neck; he wonders what else Niall has said. “Um—no, it’s all good, I’m cool with whatever.”

Zayn changes the song anyway, not to Frank Ocean but to some other R&B song, a husky slide of vocals over a lush background. “Much better, yeah?”

“Well . . . it’s more like—my sound.”

Zayn looks pleased, like he approves of Liam’s taste. “Rematch?”

“You know you’ll just lose.”

“Eh, it’s fine.” He picks up the controls again with a grin. “I’ll do better this time.”

“Famous last words.”

They’re in the middle of the match when Liam blurts out, “What happened last year?”

Zayn freezes, and then takes advantage of the moment to score a point before shrugging. “It was just shit. Why?”

“I mean—you said, earlier—and I just wondered . . . s’none of my business, sorry.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Zayn pauses the game and stretches. “It was one of the reasons we moved here? Like—some people in Bradford just . . . really had it out for me, I guess.”

“Why was that?”

Zayn presses his lips together, staring at a point in the distance. “A couple of reasons. A lot of the lads I’d known since primary moved away and I didn’t have any close mates; guess that made me easy to have a go at. Erm—dunno. Being—uh, having a Pakistani dad ‘n’ a white mum didn’t really help. And, like, there’s pretty big Muslim community in Bradford, but like, y’know, there’s always shitty people. Just—yeah.” He’s silent for a moment; the memory doesn’t really seem to upset him, but some of the easy confidence he always carries himself with has seeped from his posture. “I came out as bi last year, too,” he says finally, straightening up a little. “And that was the big one. People didn’t like it. S’okay, though. Had a few mates, and they sort of helped me out? But I wasn’t heartbroken to leave, like.”

“Oh.” Liam looks at him for a moment, Zayn meets his gaze and shrugs, as if to say _no point in trying to change_. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Ready to keep playing?”

“Yeah.” Liam unpauses the game, and promptly scores a goal.

Zayn grins. “What, no pity points for me?”

“No way in hell, Malik.” Liam sends him a sideways glance. “Y’know, before last year I had a pretty shit time of it in school.”

“S’that so? What, my handsome, muscle bound footie king didn’t have a fan club?” 

Liam snorts. “Mm, quite the opposite of one, actually. Louis was me only mate. And Niall, later on. But people sort of took the piss out me for everything. Liking comics, or joining the footie team when they thought I’d be shit at it, or having to lose weight when I was younger, or—just—for no reason.” He stares down at his hands and then shrugs. “Dunno, it got really bad two years ago. But then it eased up, and now things are—things are okay. Things are really good.”

“Yeah?” Zayn says quietly. 

“Yeah.” Liam looks up at him; there’s an unreadable expression on his face. “S’why I never told anyone who wasn’t Louis or Niall that I’m not—like—straight. I’m—like you. I’m bi. Didn’t want to get shit for that, too.”

The corner of Zayn’s mouth jerks up before he quickly schools his face into a neutral expression again. “Yeah? S’cool, babe.” There’s a long pause before he adds, “You’re really brave, Leeyum. I know you are.”

“M’really not. I’m scared that things are gonna go back to the way they were.”

“You’re a whole lot fucking braver than you think are you,” Zayn says. “Trust me.”

And Liam can’t help it, he sort of does. It’s too much of a miracle that he’s sitting here with this beautiful boy who seems to think he’s something special, playing video games and talking about how they both know the cruelty of their peers all too well. He’s brave. He tries the word out in his head. 

_Brave._

He wishes he could be braver. 

★★★

The after school routine is usually pretty straight forward: Louis and Liam both have cars, but usually they’ll take turns driving to school in the morning to save on petrol; since they (plus Niall) have the same after school schedule, it’s never been a problem. On occasion, they’ll give Zayn or Harry a lift home, although Harry has his bikes, and Zayn seems to skateboard to school a lot. The system’s never failed them before.

The problem today is that Louis is late.

Usually he’ll be the first one out of the damn school; making the sprint from his last hour chemistry class to the car park takes him all of one and a half minutes. Niall and Liam will leave their shared English class a few minutes later and find him panting and grinning brilliantly by the car or on the footie pitch. Today he’s nowhere to be seen, and even though Liam’s the one driving, he still doesn’t want to leave the other boy behind.

“I’ll fuckin’ kill him, m’starved and I wanna go home,” Niall says grumpily. They were assigned a major essay in English, and Liam thinks the sudden depression that had seized the entire class when it had been announced is still affecting the Irish boy.

“Give him a couple more minutes, I’m sure he’ll show up. Maybe he’s finishing a test or something.”

“You know that if Tommo got caught in the middle of a test at the end of the day, he would hand that shit in and leave; he wouldn’t care about gettin’ a zero.”

Liam just shrugs. “Just a couple more minutes, Niall.”

After five minutes, Niall groans loudly enough to attract the attention of a few freshmen girls. “I’m _dying_ of hunger, Payno.

“I’ll buy you a Nando’s if you’ll give me a lift home,” a voice behind them says. 

Liam spins around and sees Zayn standing a few feet away. The Northern lad gives them half a lopsided smile. Niall beams beside him. 

“You don’t have to buy this wanker food; you know I’m always good to give you a ride,” Liam says, and Niall wilts a little. “We’re just waiting for Louis, so—”

One of Zayn’s eyebrows jumps up. “Yeah? Well, I was waitin’ for Harry so we could leave together, and he never showed up either. My best mate sense are tingling. I’d bet me skateboard they’re together doing something real naughty right now.”

Niall chokes. “Mate.”

Zayn shrugs. “You and I both know it’s probably true, Niall.”

“Fuck, it probably is.” He looks down, blinking rapidly as if trying to rid his mind of whatever mental images he’d been seeing. “Right. So can we go then?”

Liam sighs heavily. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Niall jumps in shotgun—Liam’s a little bit disappointed that Zayn won’t be sitting next to him, but he doesn’t say anything for obvious reasons—and Zayn slides in the backseat. 

“Got any tunes for us today, then, Malik?” Niall says, offering Zayn the aux cord. 

“Nah, I’m good.”

Niall frowns. “You literally always want to show off your music.”

In the rearview mirror, Liam can see Zayn shrug tiredly. “Not today, I guess.”

Niall’s frown deepens. “You all right, mate?”

Zayn offers up that same lopsided smile he’d given them in the car park. “Course I am. No reason for me not to be, yeah?”

Niall looks at him for a long moment, and then his face smoothens out, and he reaches over to tune into the radio, picking an obnoxiously loud Kanye tune and rapping along badly. Liam doesn’t miss the husky whisper of Zayn’s underground R&B music, doesn’t miss the lazy grin that curls around Zayn’s mouth when one of his favorite songs comes on, doesn’t miss the way his eyelids fall half shut to reduce his eyes to golden slits—nope, not at all. 

“Hey,” Zayn says after a minute, when Niall is station surfing again. “Is that bloke Calvin on the footie team with you?”

Liam watches Niall go still, feels his own stomach clench. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “Why?”

Zayn looks out the window for a long moment and then shrugs with that damn half-hearted smile. “No reason, I guess. Just wondered.”

“Zayn,” Niall says, his voice going deeper than usual. “Has he been giving you trouble?”

Zayn makes a dismissive gesture. 

“Has he?”

“Course not, Niall, Christ.” Zayn’s voice is perfectly even; the tone sounds familiar, but Liam can’t place when he’s heard Zayn use it before.

“Cos if he has,” Niall says seriously. “I will fuck him up so bad he won’t be able to play footie ever again, I swear to fuckin’ God. I mean it, Zayn.”

“Thanks, mate, but I’m good. Was just wondering.”

Liam remembers, suddenly and with a jolt, where he’d heard Zayn use that tone before. It’d been when he was talking about his last year in Bradford.

“Zayn,” he says.

“I’m fine, Liam, I swear.”

“If he’s bothering you, tell me.”

“Why would he—”

“He has a track record with Louis already, Zayn, okay? M’not gonna let him mess with any more of my—my mates. If he’s fucking with you, tell me.”

There’s a long silence. Zayn meets Liam’s eyes in the rearview mirror defiantly. 

“I’m fine,” he says finally, which doesn’t even answer the question and his voice suggests that he’s not really fine at all.

Somehow, Liam knows not to push it. “If he ever does, though—if anyone ever does—you’ll tell me, right? So I can help you stop it? Because you deserve better than that, Zayn.”

“Yeah,” Zayn mutters, “I’d tell you.”

“Okay.” 

No one says anything for a moment after that, and then Niall says, “I’ve got a fiver that says Harry and Louis gave each other blowies in the bathroom by the chem lab.”

Liam groans and pulls up by Zayn’s house. “Please help me cleanse my mind of that image.”

“Thanks for the lift, Liam,” Zayn says, pulling open the door and waving at Niall.

“Anytime.”

Liam waits until he sees Zayn’s door shut before he pulls away. “He’s okay, right?”

“Course he’s okay, bro,” Niall says solidly. “Zayn’s a big boy, he can take care of ‘imself, yeah?”

“Yeah . . .”

“You worry too much.”

“I’ve been told.”

“Well, it’s true.”

Liam just purses his lips together and vows to get Louis to help him hunt down Calvin tomorrow. It’s about time that he did something brave, anyways.

★★★

Harry and Louis are insufferable. 

No, Liam’s serious: they are the _worst._

Even if they could get their hands off each other for one damn second, there’d still be the adoring gazes, the soft, gentle, private smiles, the fucking _fondness_ that’s written all over their faces when they look at each other doing _anything._ Liam’s pretty sure that looking at such a happy couple when you’re painfully single and may or may not have a raging crush on one of your best friends is a form of torture that’s illegal in at least twenty three countries. And if it’s not, then it should be. 

(And yes, he’s happy for them and all that. He’s also just a little bit jealous because he’s sort of forgotten what it feels like to see your world in someone else’s eyes. Even then, he’s not sure that he and Danielle were the same way that Harry and Louis are. Harry and Louis are on a whole different level than the rest of the world.)

As it turns out, they had given each other blowies, but they didn’t do it at school. No, for some incomprehensible reason, they did it in the locker rooms, and Liam never wants to walk in there again. He wishes there was some way to dispel the mental images that went with that.

“Why in there, mate, of all places? Why there?”

Louis shrugs, that sharp grin that means he’s either planning trouble or very satisfied with the trouble he just caused wreathing his face. “There was no practice yesterday; I knew there’d be no one in there. Besides, won’t it be just a little bit funny watching Calvin get undressed on the spot where two blokes were blowing each other yesterday?”

“No, not fucking really,” Liam says, “and speaking of Calvin—”  
Harry waltzes up beside them wearing the exact same grin Louis has on. “Hi Liam.” He leans down to press a kiss on the tip of Louis’ nose. “Hi Lou.”

“Hi,” Liam says grudgingly. 

“You aren’t angry about the locker room thing, are you? We cleaned up and everything.”

Liam groans. “I’m not angry, I just don’t understand why it was necessary. You could have gone home. You could have done it on one of your bicycles. Or you could have just not told me and let me live in peace.”

“I think it’s important to not be embarrassed of your sex life,” Harry says, much louder than is absolutely necessary. “It’s a normal human function. Unless you’re asexual.” He pauses. “In which case that’s okay too! You should be able to talk about your sex life or lack thereof all you like. We should destigmatize sex.”

Liam feels like he’s entered the ninth circle of hell.

“Okay, well, maybe destigmatize it somewhere else next time?”

Harry beams at him. “It would be my pleasure, Liam.”

“Quite literally, your pleasure,” Louis says with a smirk, and they snigger and jostle each other. Liam has never wanted to leave a conversation quite so badly. 

“See you at practice?” he asks Louis, and the other boy nods.

“Sure thing, captain.”

“Okay, then, catch you later.” 

He waves to them both and quickly sets off. Andy stops him in front of his History class to tell him that he’s hosting a party after the footie game on Friday; _it’ll be lit, bro,_ he promises, and Liam admits that it’d be nice to unwind a bit. Lately he’s felt like he’s a spring, coiled up under the all the tension and just waiting to spring out, waiting to snap.

“So you’ll be there, bro?”

“Count me in.”

★★★

The locker room is always tense after the last practice before a game, which is part of the reason Liam stays outside to do more practice. He can’t really take all the jokes and predictions and bets that take place; the speculation usually drives him mad. But he has that essay to write today, so he’s packing up early and changing with the rest of the team, trying to block out most of the noise around him.

“Liam.”

If someone asks him one more time if he thinks Niall will be able to block a goal using his nuts one more time—

“Liam!”

He turns and sees Zayn standing in the door of the locker room a little awkwardly, sticking out like a sore thumb with his multiple layers and Doc Martens and black rimmed glasses among the crowd of sweaty, half-dressed jocks.

“Hey.” He walks over to the door, pulling his shirt over his head. “All right, then?”

“Just wondering if I could get a ride home again.” Zayn pulls a face. “Second time in a week, I know, sorry.”

“No, you know it’s fine. Louis’ driving today though; we’re leaving in like ten minutes?”

“How about you ask me before you clear him?” Louis shouts from the other side of the room.

“Can I get a lift home, then?” Zayn calls back, rolling his eyes.

Louis grins and opens his mouth, probably prepared with a joke, but someone jumps in ahead of him.

“S’all right, Tommo, I wouldn’t want my car bombed either.”

The locker room suddenly quiets; it’s like a heavy silence slowly blankets everyone the minute they realize the implications of what was just said. 

Calvin, that fucking piece of shit, smirks like he’s proud of himself. 

Liam feels something hot and furious building up in his stomach, something that’s barely restrained by the last thread of his common sense. It’s taking every inch of concentration not to cross the room in two enormous strides and smash Calvin’s stupid smug face in—he knows he could, is the thing, and the reasons for not doing so are looking less and less convincing by the moment.

“Louis?” Zayn says. He looks like one hundred percent of his energy is focused on Louis’ answer, like he’s trying to block out every single other thing in the world; his face is grimly neutral. “A ride?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, throwing Calvin a look so nasty Liam’s shocked that Calvin doesn’t drop dead on the spot. “Absolutely, mate.”

“Thanks, bro. I’ll just—”

“That was a bad fucking move, Tommo. M’tellin’ you he’s got explosives under his jacket.” Calvin leans up against his locker, arms folded, grinning.

Liam literally _sees_ Zayn flex his fingers like he’s itching to start throwing punches before he turns his head and gives Calvin the most withering glare Liam’s ever seen. It puts the look Louis just doled out to shame; makes Niall’s glower from across the room look like a kind smile of support.

“Why is it so hard for you to keep your fucking mouth shut?” Zayn asks him in a perfectly calm voice. Which, considering the steely look on his face, is more terrifying than reassuring. 

Calvin grins at him and then sweeps his gaze over the rest of the silent locker room, seemingly looking for approval. “Ooh, don’t go all 9/11 on my arse now, mate. You’ve—”

Zayn makes a lunge towards him, but Louis—streaking across the room at the speed of light—beats him to it at the same moment Liam grabs Zayn’s arm, slamming Calvin against the lockers and pinning him there. 

“Listen up, you fucking piece of shit,” Louis says from between clenched teeth. “I’ve had quite enough of you and your bullshit. So either you shape your arse the fuck up, or I’m going to personally make sure you either get benched for the rest of the season or kicked the fuck off the team. Don’t fucking test me, dickhead. You know I can do it. I still have the screenshots from that time when you—” and then he leans in and whispers something in Calvin’s ear, and Calvin suddenly curses loudly. 

“You wouldn’t fucking go there, you jumped-up fag, you—”

Louis’ fist connects with Calvin’s face in the same instant that Coach Paddy walks in the room. 

“Tomlinson!” he barks. “Just what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Giving Calvin a very well deserved arse-kicking,” Louis says calmly, “Coach.”

“Let go of him immediately.”

Louis looks vastly disappointed, but he only stares at Calvin for a moment longer before releasing him. “Don’t think I didn’t fucking mean it, wanker.”

“Both of you, my office, now. And you—no non team members in the locker rooms, go on,” Paddy barks, and strides out of the room.

“It looks like you may have to wait a little longer for your ride, Zayn,” Louis says with dignity. “I do apologize for the wait.” 

He strides out of the room, and Calvin follows him, giving Zayn a dirty look as he leaves.

There’s a long, tense silence, and then Niall quips, “Doesn’t ‘e know Bush did 9/11?” and there’s a smattering of laughter, and then everyone starts talking again. Zayn is standing perfectly still by the door, Liam’s hand still clasped around his arm. 

“Are you okay?” Liam says quietly, bringing his arm up so it’s slung around Zayn’s shoulders. For the first time in his life, he’s not trying to analyze how the rest of the team will be looking at him. For the first time in his life, he’s completely unafraid. He’s angry. 

“I think m’gonna wait outside,” Zayn says after a minute. “Come out when y’done, yeah?”

Liam lets his arm drop and nods. “All right, then, mate. It’ll only be a minute, but we’ll probably have to wait for Lou.”

“Yeah.” Zayn leaves the locker room with his head down; Liam tries not to race into Paddy’s office and beat the living shit out of Calvin. Instead, he just jerks his head towards the door at Niall— _hurry up, he needs us_ —and stuffs the rest of his footie kit into his bag messily. Niall’s at his side in a minute, and they hurry out the door together, calling a few quick goodbyes to the team over their shoulders. 

Zayn’s waiting for them a few feet away from the entrance, bag slung over his shoulder and one earbud tucked in, the other dangling loose over his chest. He jerks his chin at them in greeting; Niall holds out one fist, and after a slight pause, Zayn gives him a begrudging smile and bumps it with his own. 

“Are you okay?” Liam asks again, and this time Zayn shrugs. 

“I’ll be fine. Sometimes it just gets to ya. Sometimes y’don’t even hear it. And one hundred percent of the time, people are shitbags. Rather me than me sisters, yeah?”

Niall looks at him for a moment, nodding his head slightly, and then reaches out to pull Zayn into a hug, patting his back and ruffling his hair. 

“I’ve got ya back, bro. I’ve got you, okay? I’m gonna find that piece of shit and kick his arse, if there’s anything left after Louis is done with him. Next time tell us, okay?”

“Okay,” Zayn says. 

“Okay.” Niall lets go of him and steps back. “Where’s Harry, anyway?”

“Had a doctor’s appointment after school; his mum picked him up. And I had to make up a test from last week, so I thought I’d catch a ride with you lads since we finished at the same time.”

“You don’t even need to ask, bro,” Niall says seriously.

“Niall, you don’t even drive.”

“Well, I’m speaking for all of us, all right? I know Li and Tommo don’t mind.”

“We really don’t.”

Zayn scuffs his shoe into the ground and then looks up with the beginnings of a smile. “Yeah, all right. Thanks.”

“You know I’ve got you,” Liam says quietly. 

They exchange quiet, private grins, and then Liam flings his arm over Zayn’s shoulders, and Zayn tucks himself into Liam’s side, and Liam isn’t as angry anymore, but he’s not afraid of anything, either, and yeah, maybe he feels a bit brave, too.

Louis comes out of Paddy’s office a while later with his head held high and a look of grim satisfaction on his face. 

“What happened?” Niall asks as Louis holds out his hand towards Zayn. They clap their hands together and pull each other into a hug like some sort of weird handshake, and Zayn says, “Thanks, bro.”

“He had it fuckin’ coming. And thanks for letting me do it, cos I saw you were going in for the kill as well. I just—have some old beef with him.”

“Sure thing, mate. Next time we’ll do it together, yeah?”

“Absolutely.” Louis looks like sunshine at the prospect. “Anyway, Niall—to answer your question: we both got benched for the game tomorrow. Which, I mean, isn’t too bad. Bit of a disappointment, since me mum and sisters were gonna come. But. Y’know.”

“You didn’t do anything, though! He provoked—”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Well, _apparently,_ punching someone when they haven’t physically provoked you isn’t really approved of, or whatever. I explained all the shit he said to you, though, and then all the shit he said to me, and I guess that still doesn’t mean I can punch him.” He waves one hand like he can brush away the entire book of school rules and come away with no consequences. “Anyway. Are we going to get going, or not?”

They all pile into Louis’ car—Zayn and Liam sit in the back, while Niall sits shotgun and cackles his way through Katy Perry tunes—and pull away from the school in what Louis calls a blaze of glory and Liam thinks is a probably a pretty pathetic cloud of dust. Zayn sprawls out on two seats and puts up a storm of protest every time Niall picks another Perry song (because apparently, Jhene Iko is _so much better, Niall, why would you listen to this shite when music like that exists_?), his head propped up on Liam’s lap while Liam tells him that if they got in a car crash right now he would probably die, that he should sit up and buckle his seatbelt.

★★★

“Let the lad live life in the fast lane,” Louis says. “I admire that in a man.”

“You’re taken,” Zayn reminds him.

“Shut up, Malik, I’m trying to play your wingman here. Just let me.”

“The fast lane is gonna get him killed one day,” Liam says firmly.

“Oh, like that day you hit me with your car?” 

Liam groans. “Zayn—listen—I’m still so fucking sorry about that—”

Zayn reaches up to rub his hands over Liam’s scalp with a grin. “Nah, babe, s’fine. I lived. I was fine.”

“Just—what a way to meet, honestly.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

They drop Niall off first—Zayn immediately reaches for the aux cord and plays a song by The Weeknd that Liam’s never heard before—and then head to Zayn’s house, Louis begrudgingly admitting that yeah, maybe this song is sort of sick. 

“Also,” he says, “I feel like a chauffeur, with you two cuddling in the backseat there. I feel like that Beyoncé song. You know—what is it— _driver, roll up the partition, please_ ,” he warbles throatily, and Zayn sighs. 

“That song’s called Partition, Lou.”

★★★

“Yeah, exactly. I need a partition here. You two are sickening.”

Liam feels himself flush all over, but Zayn just squirms around a little in his lap so he can twist his head over to smile at Liam. 

“Just givin’ you and Harry some competition, yeah, aren’t we, babe.”

And God, Liam wishes they were. He wishes that he wasn’t projecting his own affection into Zayn’s eyes, wishes that Zayn wasn’t so warm and teasing and _Zayn_ in the first place, because then maybe Liam would just know whether Zayn likes him in the first place. 

“All right, here we are, Malik, get out of here. Stop corrupting my Payno.”

Zayn sits up and grabs his bag, swinging his legs out of the car. “Yeah, yeah. See you lot tomorrow. You’re both ace, yeah? Tell—tell Niall he is too. Thanks for everything.”

“Don’t even mention it,” Louis says firmly. “What are friends for?”

Zayn grins sheepishly, the light hitting his face and making him squint, his fingers curling around the strap of his bag and his other hand rubbing at the back of his neck, a habit of Liam’s own that he recognizes on the other boy.

“Yeah,” he finally says. “Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, letting out the breath that he’d been holding in his lungs until it burned. “Yeah, see you then.”

The door slams shut, and Liam watches him walk up to his front door, wondering what would have happened if in that moment, he would have just leaned forward and—

“The boy’s in bloody love with you,” Louis says bluntly, pulling away from the house and slamming around a corner at the speed of light. “You should get over your fear of everything and just kiss him already.”

“I’m not afraid of everything.”

“You’re afraid of failure and rejection, which makes you afraid of doing everything. It also makes you blind to everything that would encourage you not to be afraid. And in this case, it’s making you blind to the fact that Zayn has a crush on you the size of the moon. Believe me when I say this, Liam.”

“I just—” Liam’s floundering here, wobbling between believing him and then having to the face the fact that he is, indeed, too scared to make a move, and not believing him, which is also kind of bad. “I just—I’m not out? To anyone? And I—”

“I think he’ll understand. And you know—I’m not trying to pressure you into anything here, but maybe it’s time to start thinking about it, Li. You can’t live in the closet forever.”

“When did this turn into a therapy session?” Liam grumbles, staring out the window and swallowing down his turbulent emotions. 

“When I decided it would be.” Louis swerves into a hard right, and then pulls to a screeching halt in front of Liam’s house. “All right, Payno. Get that essay done, yeah? Oh, and wish me luck; me ‘n’ Haz have got a date tonight.”

“Good luck,” Liam says sourly. “Try not to blow each other in any public places.”

“I’ll do my best. Cheers.”

Liam gets out of the car and is about to close the door when Louis says, “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“I know Zayn’s going to that party at Andy’s after school. Make your move then, yeah?”

“Louis—”

“You’ve got to learn to be brave somehow, Payno.”

★★★

The game they play is spectacular. Liam had been afraid that without Louis, the team would be disheartened, but if anything they seem to want to prove themselves even more tonight. They win by a huge margin, their offense players scoring more goals then they have all season, and Niall blocking nine out of every ten balls aimed at their net. It’s the best feeling in the world, running at his teammates at the end of the game and colliding with them, rolling around on the pitch and screaming his victory in Niall’s face as Niall yells back just as loudly. He can hear Louis’ cheers from the bench, and maybe he’s just imagining things, but he thinks he can hear Harry and Zayn screaming from the stands.

Coach Paddy herds them all into the locker rooms and gets them to calm down a little, but Liam can tell that even he’s feeling the high of such a great win after their last game. Louis bounces around the locker room shouting about what a legendary match it was, how he wishes he could have played, and even Calvin grudgingly tells Niall that he’d done a good job. Niall laughs in his face.

“You’re coming to Andy’s, right, Payno?” someone asks him, and before he can even open his mouth, Louis jumps in with, “Damn right he is.”

Well. It looks like his fate has been sealed for him. 

“You’re gonna do it, right, Liam?” Louis hisses in his ear. “Please tell me you’re gonna try something.”

“I’m—” Liam can still feel the high of victory coursing through him, can still feel his heart drumming with adrenaline. “Yeah, maybe.”

That seems to be good enough for Louis, because he nods briskly and claps him on the back. “That’s my man.”

Niall seems to be in on it too, because he bounds up to throw an arm around Liam’s shoulders and mumbles, “I told ya, Payne, Zayn’s got it bad for you. It’ll be fine.”

Then, because apparently literally everyone knows about him and Zayn, Louis says, “Harry said he’ll make sure Zayn comes over and talks to you. Even though we all know Zayn doesn’t need any encouragement to do that.”

“Did you tell everyone?”

Louis frowns. “What? No. Just Harry and Niall.”

Liam groans and pulls his jersey over his head. “Okay. Okay. Give me half a second to get changed and we’ll go.”

★★★

Andy really pulled out all the stops tonight. There’s already music thudding through the walls of his house, and Liam can see what looks like a strobe light through one of the windows. He doesn’t even want to know where Andy’s parents are. 

When he and Louis and Niall open the door, it’s even louder; Liam doesn’t recognize the song, but it’s buzzing through his chest like the left over adrenaline from the match, making him feel like his ribs cage is shaking from the vibrations. Louis’ shouting about how this will be sick, saying something about going to go find alcohol, but Liam can barely hear him over the music and the cheers of the people who just saw them walk in.

“Bloody good game, Payno!”

“That last block was ace, Niall!”

“Wish y’could’ve played, Tommo, you would’ve had a blast out there today!”

He and Niall bask in the praise of the party-goers for a bit before following Louis into the kitchen where Andy and Josh from the team are slamming back shots. They great the three of them with loud cheers, pounding their backs and offering them shot glasses; Niall eagerly accepts them, but Louis shakes his head at Liam and thrusts a beer into his hand instead.

“You need to stay at least relatively sober until you talk to Zayn. Trust me, mate, y’don’t wanna do that drunk.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Liam says, a little reluctant just on principle even though he wouldn’t have joined the drinking game anyway. He’s always been a little bit shy of getting roaring drunk. And Louis does make a good point: he doesn’t want to stumble up to Zayn tonight and say some sort of stupid shit and fuck the whole thing up. 

“Okay. M’gonna go find Harry, you go find your boy, and we’re gonna do this.”

“What are _you_ trying to do?”

Louis frowns. “Find a private room.”

Liam feels like he’s going to sigh out his lungs. “Okay. Okay. Have fun, I guess.”

Louis’ grin is sharp as a knife. “Believe me, I will.”

The music is still pounding like a second heartbeat through Liam’s chest as he walks through the crowded rooms, high fiving people when they congratulate him on the game and occasionally pulling one of the other players into a hug. He’s pretty sure it’s a Miley Cyrus song now— _can’t you see it’s we who own the night_ —and he knows that Zayn is somewhere here being mildly horrified by whoever is choosing the music. 

He finally spots Harry’s curly head swathed in a headscarf in the next room and promptly makes his way over to find the other boy wrapped in deep conversation with some kid called Michael; Liam’s pretty sure he’s friends with Ashton and Calum from the team. 

“Hey, Harry—have you seen Zayn?”

Harry turns around and beams at him beatifically. “Liam! Great match you played. Dunno much about football, but—you won, so . . . um, no, I haven’t seen Zayn since we got here. He went off to find you, I think, I thought you’d have found each other by now. But. Um. I guess not.”

“Yeah, I haven’t seen him at all.”

Harry frowns. “Can’t really help you, then, Liam. I guess just keep looking? You should be able to find each other eventually.” 

“Okay, thanks. Oh—Louis’ looking for you. Just to let you know.”

Harry’s beam grows wider, if at all possible. “Okay, I’ll go find him. Thanks, Liam.”

“Yeah, cheers.”

He heads off into the thicker part of the crowd, where there’s a loud game of beer pong going on. Stopping to pick up another beer, he pushes through just to see Louis downing a cup at the pong table while his opponent high fives his friends. Liam sort of wants to tell him that Louis is always like this at beer pong—abysmally bad at first, and then suddenly, ruthlessly accurate—but decides to let him enjoy his fleeting moment of victory. 

The air is the house is charged, almost electric, as if it’s not only the team that’s still energetic from the win, and while Liam doesn’t usually mind crowds—it’s Niall that gets claustrophobic—it’s starting to wear at him a bit. The music seems too loud, the people too close pressed and sweaty. So he heads to the back door, where he knows the stoners usually are, talking in small, huddled groups where they can duck out for a smoke at any given time. It’s not a joint he craves, though, it’s just a breath of cooler air—he’s starting to feel the beer, and he’s stumbling just the tiniest bit, the buzz just strong enough to make his vision bright and his tongue a little loose. 

The stoners nod at him companionably when he enters their midst, and he mumbles a greeting in return, stepping past them to slide open the back door and slip outside. There are only a few people out here: a girl with long hair that he thinks he recognizes from his English class—she’s looking a bit ill—a couple who seems to think they’ve bagged the best snogging spot ever, boy wearing a fearsome looking band T-shirt and eyeliner, and—

Liam’s heart skips a beat when he sees him.

Zayn.

For a moment, he considers leaving before Zayn notices him, or walking up to him and pretending it’s all good and they’re just mates, but—no, he’s committed to this, has promised Louis, and by extension, Harry and Niall, that he’s going to go through with this. So he walks over to Zayn, bumps their shoulders together, and says, “So what are you doing out here?”

Zayn looks over with a jolt and then smiles when he sees it’s Liam. “Just needed to get a bit of air. And this song is shitty.”

“I knew you’d think it was,” Liam says, and Zayn laughs a little. 

They stand shoulder to shoulder in silence for a while, Liam digging the toe of his shoe into the ground awkwardly, wondering if he would make it even more awkward if he bent done to retie the one that was no longer triple knotted, and Zayn looking up at the sky, seemingly perfectly content. 

“Do you believe in aliens?” Zayn asks him finally.

Liam frowns. “Are you drunk?”

Zayn turns to grin at him, all warm golden brown eyes and a scrunched up nose. “A little bit. I still wanna know.”

“Um . . .” Liam follows Zayn’s gaze up into the night sky; there’s a spectacular array of stars. “Um, yes?”

Zayn looks immensely pleased. “That was the right answer.”

“What, do you believe in aliens?”

“I think you have to be really self-centered not to believe in aliens,” Zayn says firmly. “There’s no way the entire universe is made just for us. We can’t be the only living things in the whole universe.”

”I guess that’s true.”

There’s another long silence, and then Zayn says in a hushed voice, “You can see so many more stars here than you can in Bradford.”

Liam doesn’t say anything, just turns to look at the way he stares up at the sky, head tilted back and cheeks a little flushed from drinking, his huge bright eyes flickering over the stars like he’s looking for something. 

“And there’s so many more, like,” he adds after a moment. “There’s, like, millions of galaxies that we can’t even see.”

“Yeah,” Liam says softly. “A whole world out there that we can’t see from here.”

Zayn leans into his side a little, and Liam puts his arm around his shoulders, and they stand there together looking up at the invisible world above, Liam’s heart thundering through his chest like it’s trying to break out of his ribcage. Finally, Zayn raises his plastic cup towards the sky and says, “This one’s for all the stars we can’t see from here.”

Liam laughs and bumps their cups together, downing the last of his drink in one go, a move that even Niall would have been proud of him for. And then—then— _then_ Zayn’s turning to face him under his arm, face tilted up and eyes half closed. Liam’s hand is somehow on the small of Zayn’s back, and Zayn’s fingers are curled over his shoulders, and Liam can smell the faint, sharp sweetness of him, the burn of the drink on his breath. They’re so close, _so close_ , faces inches apart—Zayn’s hand is warm under his jaw, his thumb brushing over Liam’s cheekbone—their foreheads are almost touching, and Zayn’s eyes are searching his face, full of a million pinpricks of light from the stars, and—and then there’s a whisper between them, curling into the space between their mouths, _come on then, come on_ —

★★★

Zayn’s mouth tastes like sweetness and alcohol, the sugary juice lingering between his lips and a slow burn of cheap vodka at the back of his throat. He tastes like being unafraid to kiss a boy on the lawn at a party, like cuddles in the backseat of Louis’ car and playing FIFA together on a Saturday morning, like lopsided smiles and good music and stars.

It feels like an hour—a day, a year—before they pull back; not fully, just enough to part their lips and press their foreheads together. Zayn’s eyes are still closed, but there’s a smile curling around his mouth that mirrors the one on Liam’s lips. The only noise is the music from inside the house, and the faint cheers of whoever’s winning beer pong. 

“Hey,” Zayn whispers finally.

“Hi,” Liam says back, watching Zayn’s eyes flutter open.

“You’re okay with this? I know you’re not, like—”

“I’m okay,” Liam says quickly. “Trust me, I’m okay.”

“Okay,” Zayn breathes out, and then they’re kissing again, gentle and soft and unlike any girl that Liam’s ever kissed, because Zayn’s hair is short under his fingers and his body is flatter where it’s pressed to Liam. Zayn kisses with purpose, with parted lips and a hint of tongue and the faintest trace of a smile. It’s heady and freeing, exhilarating like the rush of adrenaline after a match.

There’s a world written on Zayn’s skin just like the one painted beyond the stars, and Liam swears he’ll explore it all. 

★★★

Liam comes out to his parents two days later. His mother cries. His father is gruff but claps him on the shoulder and tells him he’ll be proud of him no matter what. It’s a better reaction than he’d hoped for, considering his parents aren’t terribly educated on things like this, but the thing he’s happiest about is that it doesn’t change anything between the three of them. 

His sisters—both off at uni now, but he phones them to tell them, which is a more terrifying experience that it should be—both tell him that they’re proud of him too, that they know that their little brother is capable of withstanding anything. That makes him feel stronger than he’d like to admit. They cry a little, too, maybe after Liam hangs up, he sniffles into the dark a bit as well, but once again it’s better than he’d ever hoped for.

Coming out to people at school is much, much harder. He doesn’t really _tell_ anyone anything, aside from his closer friends; he just holds Zayn’s hand in the hallway, which is a braver thing to do than it sounds like. He knows that people see it, and talk, and sometimes he’ll catch someone’s eyes lingering on their joined hands with this very particular expression, and he just knows what they’re thinking. But most people don’t seem to like him any less, and there’s certainly no tremendous backlash or sudden return to the way things were like a few years ago as he’d feared.

Louis and Niall and Harry are the best; Louis and Niall make sure he doesn’t hear anything from anyone on the team, and Liam’s pretty sure that the only time that he’s ever seen Harry get angry is when someone made a comment about Liam being a cocksucker in Maths. It was actually pretty incredible—he doesn’t think that the boy is going to be able to look anyone in the eyes again after Harry went off on him. 

Zayn is—well, Zayn is Zayn. He holds Liam’s hand without shame, keeps his head high in the hallways even though Liam knows that he has even less protection against backlash than he does, knows that people have called him some of the worst names on earth just because of what he is to Liam. Whenever it gets to be a bit much and Liam feels like things are closing in on him, he’ll put one of his earbuds in Liam’s ear, puts the other one in his own, and helps them both in lost in the endless music he has on his phone, worlds and worlds of lyrics and melody that help them both calm down. And somehow, he knows exactly when Liam’s feeling uncomfortable, when they should step away from each other, and when Liam needs someone to hold on to. They haven’t exactly defined what they are yet, whatever they are, Liam needs it like a lifeline. 

(Liam may be wondering whether it’s okay to ask Zayn if they’re boyfriends, now, but no one needs to know that.)

So yeah, it’s a bit much to be dealing with, because it complicates school and footie and everything—but Liam . . . well, Liam feels like some awful weight has just lifted off his chest, a weight he didn’t even know was there. He feels like he can breathe easier now, because he’s not as afraid of someone somehow finding out. And while there are new fears now, the old paranoia, the old sickness that used to dampen every breath whenever he thought about it, is gone. So even though everything isn’t exactly always good, everything is different, and Liam thinks he needed that even more. 

★★★

“Okay, your turn to pick one.”

Liam picks up Zayn’s phone and scrolls through his music library, through countless albums and playlists.

“Who’s—” He squints at the screen. “Who’s Vienna Teng?”

Zayn brightens and cranes his neck over Liam’s shoulder. “She’s this singer from Detroit, she makes this really good indie pop music? Dunno, I just really like the way she layers all her music together, it’s so—complex, I guess is the word? Here, lemme show you my favorite one, babe.”

“What’s it called?” Liam asks as the songs begins, his ears filling with fragile whispers, the soft sounds of different people defining love.

Zayn pauses. Swallows. “It’s called Flyweight Love.”

“It’s really pretty,” Liam offers. “What’s it about? I mean, love, obviously, but—”

“Like, just—not always being able to be with the person that you love, but like—loving them anyway. Always loving them anyway.”

“Always loving them anyway,” Liam repeats. 

“Yeah,” Zayn says, and Liam doesn’t want to make this about him, he really doesn’t, but he can’t help but think that maybe Louis and Niall were right. Maybe Zayn had been crushing on him just as hard.

“Do y’wanna be my boyfriend?” he asks all in one rush, and then immediately wants to sink into the floor.

Zayn turns to him with a faint, confused smile. “Um. Are we not boyfriends now?”

God, Liam is an idiot and he should never interact with anyone ever again, fuck. “I just—I mean, well, we never really talked about it, and I—”

“Babe,” Zayn says gently. “It’s okay, yeah? We never did talk about it, I was just assuming, which wasn’t really right of me either. It’s good to talk about this stuff, yeah?”

“So—”

Zayn rolls his eyes fondly. “So, yes, I’ll be your boyfriend, you idiot.”

“Okay,” Liam says.

“Okay.”

“I really hope you two still have the door open up there!” Zayn’s mum calls from downstairs, and Zayn groans, rolling up off the bed to stretch and call back, “It’s still open, Mum!”

“Just checking.”

“I know.” Under his breath, he adds, “Believe me, I know.”

He lays back down next to Liam and tucks the earbud back in his ear. 

“Pick another one,” he says, “boyfriend.”

★★★

The days blur by in a rush of music and footie and exhaustion; he’s not how he would have lived if Harry hadn’t taken it upon himself to bring in tea or coffee most mornings. Liam’s not sure how he manages to wake up early enough to make it and then bring it over to school on his bicycle, but he’s eternally grateful. He’s pretty sure that Zayn, who’s incurably, grumpily sleep before noon, would have just stopped showing up to school if it hadn’t been for the early hour beverages. (Not really, because Zayn’s probably one of the smartest people he knows; it’s not just that he does well in his classes, but he genuinely _wants_ to learn about everything, about imaginary numbers and who came up with them, about space exploration and Pluto, about symbolism in _The Beautiful and the Damned_ —everything. But he can’t fucking stand mornings.)

_Your love is gold, your love is gold._

The last match of the season comes up far too quickly; the footie season always feels too short, especially this year, when every win and loss is made heavy by the bittersweet knowledge that each one is closer to their last. Liam will be playing in uni, sure, but it’s not going to be the same—Louis and he are most likely going to different unis, Niall’s staying to play for the Wolverhampton uni team, and any of them will be lucky if they have even one player from this team in college. 

_I don’t think you understand, there’s nowhere left to turn—the walls keep breaking . . ._

Zayn and Harry come and watch footie practice most days now so they can ride home with the boys; it’s getting colder and it’s easier to do homework in the school library, watching the team play through the window, than to bike or skateboard home in the brisk wind. And while Liam doesn’t admit it to anyone, he loves the few moments they all have together driving home with the backseat a pile of squirming, cuddling limbs, the music blasting from the phone of whoever’s sitting shotgun, and everyone arguing loudly over what to play next. The five of them are invincible together, or at least that’s what it feels like in those brief moments when they exist only in the private bubble of the car, a tiny invisible world all of their own. 

_This is not the end, this is just the world._

★★★

It’s after their second to last match that Zayn drops to his knees for Liam in the backseat of Liam’s car. It’s cramped and messy and a little awkward, but Zayn’s mouth is hot and sweet around his prick, and the sight of his lips stretched around Liam while his eyelashes fan out over his cheekbones, young and delicate and vulnerable, _does_ things to Liam that make him want to jerk his hips up into Zayn’s mouth. Zayn has one hand around the base of Liam’s cock and the other down the front of his own pants, the fly halfway undone like he was too eager for friction to bother with the rest.

“Y’looked so good out there today, babe,” Zayn says, pulling off to jerk him off for a minute, voice rough and fucked out. Liam finally allows himself to grind up a little into Zayn’s hand, and Zayn gives him a teasing grin, hand moving a little faster in his own pants. “All hot and bothered and sweaty.” His smile is almost sharp, eyes raking over the way Liam trembles under him. “Just like you are now.”

“Fuck, Zayn,” Liam moans, pushing his hips up helplessly. “Please.”

“What, you like the way I sound right now?” Zayn sinks down a bit, mouths at the head of Liam’s cock while his hand is still moving up and down his length. “Voice all ruined for you?”

“So much, Zayn—I—fuck, y’so good.”

Zayn goes down further, swallowing him down experimentally until Liam hits the back of his throat and he gags, pulls off to gulp down air with streaming eyes. 

“I’d like to be able to do that, but maybe not tonight, yeah, babe?”

“Yeah, okay, anything, just— _please_ —”

“Yeah, all right.” And then he pauses with his mouth literally right in front Liam’s dick to say, “So desperate, babe.”

“So cocky,” Liam shoots back, and they both laugh for a second, the intensity of the moment breaking a little. And maybe some people would call that ruining the mood, but honestly Liam just thinks that it reminds them that they exist outside of this, that they’re still mates and boyfriends rather than just—whatever this is. And it certainly doesn’t turn Liam on any less when Zayn’s mouth sinks back down and moves up and down his length; if anything, it only serves to make him harder being reminded that it’s _Zayn_ that’s doing this to him.

When he comes, it’s better than he can ever remember it being with Danielle; Zayn pulls off at the last moment, and Liam knows that’s a mess that’s going to need cleaning up before he gets home, but he can’t bring himself to care at the moment. Zayn jerks himself through his own orgasm, resting his head against Liam’s knee with a gasp when he comes and biting back a groan with the fingers of his free hand scrabbling against Liam’s calf.

“Sorry,” Liam says finally. “Should’ve—should’ve helped you with that.”

“S’fine. There’s always next time, yeah?” Zayn says, looking up with a lazy smile. “It’ll be your turn then.”

There’s curl of arousal in Liam’s stomach at that. “Yeah, definitely.”

After another moment, Zayn crawls up on the seat next to him, wincing and bandy-legged at the mess in his pants. Liam puts his arm around his shoulders, and Zayn puts his head on Liam’s chest, and they lay there together for a long minute, both mute in their exhaustion. 

“I’m proud of you, Liam,” Zayn says softly after a moment. 

“For what?”

“For everything.”

It doesn’t really make sense, but on some level, it perfectly does. 

“I’m proud of you too, Zayn.”

“Are you?”

“I am. Of course I am.”

Zayn’s eyes are drifting shut—and Liam’s are starting to feel like they want to do the same—but he manages to say, “I guess we’re pretty good for each other, then.”

“I guess we are.”

★★★

“Listen,” Niall says. “I’m not saying that we’re gonna lose, I’m just sayin’ that they’ve always been a hard play, and we want to go out with a bang.”

“That’s not the attitude I want on my team, Horan,” Louis says haughtily. “We’re going to kick their sorry arses easily.”

“Okay, but—”

“No buts, you wanker, we’re gonna _win_.” Louis turns and glares at him, resulting in him viciously kicking the ball towards Liam instead of the net. “It’s our last ever match together, we have to.”

Liam sends the ball streaking towards the goal, but Niall blocks it without blinking. 

“Try harder, Payno.”

They’re playing three-man footie together in the rain because there’s no practice today. It’s an old tradition they’ve kept up ever since they became friends; Niall’s the goalie, and Liam and Louis try to score while trying to prevent each other from doing so. By now it’d probably be easy for them to find another goalie to mimic real footie more closely, but for mutually unspoken reasons, they’ve always stuck to their little trio. 

“Don’t make me pull out all the stops,” Liam warns, kicking the ball out from under Louis’ feet and sending it towards the net again; this time Niall’s too slow and it rebounds against the back of the net. Niall curses and flips him off. 

Louis grins. “See, we’ve got the big Payno on our side, we’ll be fine.” His eyes narrow in that way that Liam knows means trouble. “Speaking of which—Harry said you and Zayn disappeared together for a while after the game on Saturday. Did Zayn, perhaps, experience some of the Big Payno? If you’re catching my drift?”

“Louis . . .”

“Mate, I’m just asking.”

“Don’t ask.”

“They banged,” Niall says. “ _Don’t ask_ means they totally shagged.”

“Ooh, naughty, naughty, Payno.”

“Oh, shut up.” Liam scores another goal while the two of them are distracted, and they both groan and swear. “Eyes on the ball and mind out of the gutter, lads.”

“Okay, _daddy._ ”  
“You know I think that’s creepy!”

“Niall,” Louis says with smirk. “Do you think that our Liam perhaps has a certain kink . . .?”

Liam dives at him for that, and they spend what should have been the rest of their practice session rolling around in the wet grass with Niall cheering them on. He swears he hates both of them. 

★★★

Being with Zayn is nothing like being with Danielle; they’d had a schedule, a set amount of dates they’d have per week, a certain day they’d meet up after school. He’d always tried his best to make her happy; sometimes it’d felt like everything in their relationship had been about her. Liam had hidden the bruises from his bullies from her, had wiped his tears when she was around, had done everything he could to ensure she saw nothing but the happy perfect boy she’d wanted (and in the end, ditched for a more exciting uni bloke with a motorcycle and a Mohawk). 

Zayn is spontaneous, always on the move, always finding new things to love, always wanting to be completely absorbed in whatever he’s doing, be that an art project or writing an essay or trying to learn footie from Liam. He’ll show up at Liam’s doorstep at odd times and drag him off to some secret place that he’s just discovered that Liam’s never seen before despite living here his whole life—a habit that Liam was at first afraid his parents would frown upon, but it soon becomes evident his mum and dad find it invigorating, even good for Liam.

“You’re just so set in your rut, love,” his mum says, and he can’t really disagree with her. 

So Liam’s not exactly surprised when Zayn knocks on his doorstep at nine that night, his school bag slung over one shoulder and his eyes shining with excitement behind his glasses. 

“This is pretty late, even for you,” he says. “Y’wanna come in?”

“No, we’re gonna go out,” Zayn says, “If that’s okay with your parents.”

Liam hesitates—it’s a school night, and he has work to do and footie to worry about, but knowing Zayn, he’ll help him with his homework tomorrow, and teach it to him better than he’d be able to do on his own. “Okay. Lemme go ask them; it’ll only take a second. You can come in.”

Zayn bounds through his door with a grin. “You’re gonna love it, Leeyum.”

His parents are a little less eager to let him leave late on a Wednesday, but in the end they let him go with the promise that he’ll be back by midnight. 

“Okay, let’s go, I have to be back by twelve.”

“That gives us plenty of time.”

“Want me to drive?”

Zayn considers it for a moment, and then shakes his head. “Nah, it’s a nice walk, and it’s only like ten minutes. It’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” He follows Zayn out of the house. “So what are we doing, exactly?”

Zayn just gives him a brilliant grin. “You’ll see.”

They take a turn down a street Liam never really uses; he thinks it leads into the more derelict part of town. Wolverhampton’s not the kind of place that has many abandoned or rundown neighborhoods, but there are a few places that have empty houses and shattered glass on the streets.

There are stars scattered across the sky like someone threw a double handful of white confetti into the air, the occasional car blazing by like it hopes to outshine them. Liam’s a little distracted by the warmth of Zayn’s hand in his own, however, and by the way Zayn tugs him down the quiet street, an excitable supernova in the middle of this nondescript neighborhood that has done nothing to deserve him. 

“Okay, this is it.”

Liam looks in front of him. “Zayn, this is the abandoned parking structure.”

Zayn’s digging through his bag now, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet in excitement. “Oh, you’ve been here?”

“Yeah, Louis and I used to play explorers and shit here where we were little . . . um. Why are we here?”

Zayn pulls something out of his bag and holds it up with a grin. “We’re gonna make a mess, babe.”

“Is that—”

“Spray paint, yes. I used to do this all the time in Bradford with me mates, babe, you’ll like it, trust me.”

“Are we gonna graffiti this place?”

“Yeah.”

“Zayn,” Liam says incredulously. “We can’t do this.”

Zayn starts shaking up the cans anyway. “Why’s that?”

“Number one, I haven’t drawn anything since I was, like, twelve, and more importantly, number two, it’s illegal.”

“No one cares if you do it somewhere like here, babe, trust me. And if you make it look good people mind even less. Don’t worry, we’re not going to tag this place up with curse words or something.”

“I can’t draw.”

“Then just scribble. Let it all out, Leeyum.” And then he’s handing Liam a can of paint and bounding off with one of his own. Liam hesitates, listening to the hiss of Zayn marking up the walls, and then, with a reckless sort of abandon, scrawls out an X onto the wall in front of him in neon green. 

“Keep going, babe.”

“It’s gonna look like shit.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Well, with that attitude . . . Liam grabs two more cans of paint and starts to scribble everything out, spraying over the cracks in the pavement walls of the parking structure with bright pink hearts and more X’s and a big smiley face whose color he can’t really determine in the dim light. Zayn’s standing in front of the wall a ways away, a can in each hand as he covers the cement in a vivid array of colors. 

“How’s it going?” he asks when his arm starts to ache from painting.

Zayn turns around with the brightest smile Liam’s ever seen on him. “Going pretty good—oh, I like it,” he says when he sees the doodles Liam’s covered a few meters of the wall with. “S’looking sick. I like this lil guy y’have here.”

Liam traces over the little bug he drew in the corner with his thumb and laughs. “Dunno, he looks kind of silly.”

“No, it’s cute, babe, I like his little smile.” Zayn presses a kiss into the side of Liam’s neck. “Are you having fun?”

“Yeah.” He feels lighter than he has in ages; Zayn always has that effect on him, like he gives Liam wings just by being around him. “Can I see yours?”

“Yeah; it’s not done though.”

Liam turns on the flashlight on his phone to look at what Zayn’s drawn so far; it looks like he’s done an expanse of space, replete with swirls of stars and colorful planets and aliens floating past meteors and UFOs. Below it, he’s written something in spikey, dynamic lettering, a font that looks straight off a graffiti wall in New York.

“A whole world we can’t see,” Liam reads slowly. 

Zayn shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck with a wry grin. “Dunno, just was thinkin’ about what you said at that party . . .”

“I love it,” Liam says, and when Zayn leans in for a smiling kiss, their lips seared together under the stars, he realizes with a jolt that lingering somewhere in the back of his mind is a different ending to those words that he doesn’t have the courage to say. 

★★★

_Slam._

Liam hits the ground hard, dropping to his hands and knees with a painful thud. Faintly, somewhere in the background, he can hear the outrage in the stands, someone screaming _foul_ , but no penalty seems to be called. 

They’re losing. Badly. 

“C’mon, up you go, Payno,” Josh says, jogging over and pulling Liam to his feet. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Liam draws in a ragged breath. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Josh claps him on the back and gives him a wink. “We’ve still got this, captain.”

Liam swallows hard and nods, forcing himself to jog back out into the field, skirting around the player who elbowed him into the ground and eyeing the ball. 

“What, you don’t like it on your hands and knees?” The guy asks, narrowing his eyes and trying to dodge around him. _Don’t listen to him, it’ll just make you angry_. “Someone told me you like it like that.”

Liam slams his foot into the ball and sends it hurtling towards the opposite end of the field, where Louis intercepts it neatly before sending him a thumbs up and taking off towards the goals. Liam’s ribs are really starting to ache from where he slammed into the ground.

The player from the other team—Harris, the name on his jersey says—sneers at him, blocking him when he tries to run towards where the action is. 

“Do you _want_ to get penalized?” Liam asks, trying to duck around him, but the other boy is faster. 

The game has been vicious so far—three players have been benched (thankfully only one off them is from Wolfie), five penalties have been called, and countless players have been knocked to the ground like Liam was. Wolverhampton is losing by a margin of three points, and they just can’t seem to get ahead. No matter how optimistic Louis was before the match, Liam can see that defeat and disappointment is written in the slump of his shoulders now. It’s our last match, he thinks desperately. This was the one game we wanted to win above everything else. 

“Wanna know what we’re gonna do after we win?” Harris says, blocking Liam once again. 

“Just let me play, mate, this isn’t the time to fucking talk.”

“We’re gonna track down you and Tomlinson’s fucking fag arses, and teach you what it feels like to lose against us. And then we’re gonna find—” He slams into Liam and they almost hit the ground; Liam is starting to see red. “—we’re gonna find those fags you’re fucking—we’re gonna track down your little paki slut boyfriend, and—”

“Half time!”

They step away from each other, Liam’s blood thundering in his ears and his fists clenched, Harris sneering like he knows exactly how much this is winding him up. 

The teams head back to the locker rooms, the Wolverhampton boys looking markedly dejected. Louis doesn’t even excitedly sling his arm around Liam and Niall’s shoulders like he always does. There’s a sort of deadened silence that hangs between them, a mutual disappointment in themselves that they all refuse to acknowledge.

Coach Paddy doesn’t say much in the locker room. He just stands in front of them and bows his head for a moment, and says, “No matter what happens tonight, boys, I’m proud of you. We’ve had an incredible season, and we deserve to celebrate tonight. This isn’t a good note to end this year on, but it’s been a good one regardless.”

Then he walks out, leaving them to drink their water and stretch in silence. Liam can feel the tension building in the room; sooner or later, someone will have an outburst, and he’s not sure whether he’d rather it be in here, where he and Louis will have to take at least a portion of the blame, or out on the field, where it might end in a fight. 

As it turns out, he doesn’t really have a choice. 

“Maybe we’d be winning if we didn’t have two idiots for captains,” a snarky voice says from the corner, and Liam doesn’t even have to look to know it’s Calvin. 

“Shut it, Calvin,” Niall says roughly. 

“Oh, and you’re no better, Horan! You could’ve blocked that last goal.”

Niall hunches his shoulders and shifts in his seat, cracking his knuckles either in discomfort or a threat. Either way, it doesn’t deter Calvin in the slightest. 

“Yeah, I’m quite confident that we’d be going out with a bang this year if we weren’t led by two faggots who don’t even know how to play footie.”

Liam can feel his nails biting into his palms so hard he’s sure they’ll draw blood. Louis, shockingly, hasn’t responded at all, hasn’t even looked up—he’s just sitting on one of the benches with his head in his arms like he’s too ashamed to face anyone. It’s the first time Liam can ever remember seeing Louis silent when even he’s getting angry. And yet, here he is, watching Louis ignore it in his misery while he can feel his own blood pressure rising. 

“Maybe some of us actually care about the team rather than—”

“Shut the fuck up, Calvin.” He’s not quite sure he even said it out loud until he sees the shocked look on Calvin’s face.

“What, doesn’t Tommo have anything to say today? Or are you gonna be the one who tries to jump me?”

“I said shut up!” Liam barks. “You’re a fucking prick, you hear me? If you were so good at footie, maybe Paddy would have made you captain, but you’re not, okay? So shut up and sit down and do some fucking stretches so you can actually intercept the ball the next time I pass it to you.”

Calvin just sneers, and God, Liam wants to punch his face in. “Yeah, all right. You’re captain cos you’re so good at football? Sure. We all know you like men, Payne, you probably sucked Paddy off to—”

Liam crosses the room so quickly he’s pretty sure no one even saw him move. “Listen to me. You finish that sentence, and I’ll make sure you won’t be playing for the rest of the game, whether we need you or not. Which we won’t. You hear me?”

The other boy clenches his jaw, looks Liam up and down as if deducing whether he would be able to take him, and then, slowly and without breaking eye contact, sits down. Liam feels a tiny burst of triumph and turns to face the rest of the locker room. 

“Listen, lads,” he says, and for once in his life, all eyes are on him instead of Louis or Niall or anyone else. People are looking at him and listening, and there is respect in their eyes. “Listen. I know we’re better than those wankers out there.”

Someone snorts, and he’s pretty sure he hears a whisper of _then why are we losing?_

“ _I know it_.” He slams his fist into his palm with each word. “I know it because I haven’t missed one practice this year. I haven’t missed a practice any year I’ve been on this fucking team. So I’ve seen how fucking hard we’ve trained, okay? I’ve seen our sweat and our blood and our exhaustion, every time we’re out there, I’ve seen every single one of us putting our all into this game. I know it because I know all of you, even the freshmen, because I’ve put time into this team and I’ve put faith into this team, just like all of you have. I know that maybe, on an individual level, some of us don’t like each other very much. Maybe some of us care that me and Louis—we aren’t like the rest of you, yeah? You lads have your birds out there cheerin’ for you. Louis’ got his Harry out there. And I’ve—I’ve got my Zayn. You’ve all met ‘im, yeah?”

There’s quiet murmur of assent. 

“And maybe that bothers some of you, I dunno. I don’t think it should, because you’ve all seen me ‘n’ Zayn together, and maybe Harry and Louis, too—you should know that we’re just like you around your girls, and it’s really just the same thing. But I know that maybe, on an individual level, some of you care. Maybe some of you resent us for that, or maybe it kind of scares you, yeah? But what I know—what I know is that out there, right before we got in here, one of those fuckers threatened me. And he threatened Louis. And he threatened my boyfriend. And that makes me want to kick their fucking arses.”

There’s a sort of half-hearted cheer, and Liam’s heart leaps. 

“I know that you would be just as angry if they did that to you, and your mate, and your girl. I know that you’re angry already, because they’re fighting unfair, they’re winding us up, and they’re playing us dirty. So even if you do care about me and Louis, or the way we lead this team, or about anything else that comes on the individual level, I need you to put that away for tonight. Tonight, I need you to forget the individual, and become the team.”

The cheer that the team lets out echoes around locker room like he’s an inspirational speaker, like he’s their leader, like he’s their _captain._

“Can you do that for me?”

“ _Yes!_ ”

“ _Can you do that for me?_ ”

“ _YES!_ ”

“Let’s get out there,” Liam shouts, his voice ringing over the reinvigorated cheers of the team. “Let’s get out there and show them that we’re not just us, we’re Wolverhampton!”

Someone calls the end of halftime, and the team goes pouring out of the locker room and into the field, strengthened by the idea of revenge on a common enemy and the feeling of belonging to a pack, to a team. Liam watches them go with something like pride bursting in his heart—pride in them, yes, but also pride in himself. 

“Payno.”

Liam spins around and sees Louis, finally straightened up and with a teasing grin on his face. “You should consider a career in inspirational speaking. That was pretty good.”

“Ah, shut it. They needed something to get them going.”

Louis’ face softened. “Seriously, mate, that was incredible. Don’t think I could have done that. That takes a lot of courage.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He claps Liam on the shoulder and starts running to the pitch. “Now let’s kick their fucking arses.”

★★★

The music is loud—the music is always loud at Nick’s house, but tonight Liam swears it’s shaking the very stars from the sky. There’s a blasting bass— _you are now watching the throne, don’t let me get in my zone_ —that Liam can feel with his entire body, the lyrics to the song screamed so hard that he’s probably going to be deaf for the next two weeks. Liam’s sort of shaky, sort of drunk, and very exhilarated. He feels like someone gave him a shot of pure adrenaline and then one of pure caffeine. 

They’d won, of course. They’d won, and Liam is the hero of the night, of the season, of the fucking year. Louis had been the one to score the winning goal, and Niall had been the one to block every shot in the second half, but Liam is the one who’s credited with the victory. 

The party goers had chanted his name when he arrived— _Payno, Payno, Payno_ —and the team had jumped him the minute the match had ended, and everyone is telling him that they couldn’t have done it without him. Fuck, people that he’d never talked to in his life are telling him they love him. He guesses that speech had really made an impact. 

The only thing he’s trying not to be bitter about—and he is, just a little—is that Zayn is nowhere to be seen. Harry’s even here, calmly chatting away and sharing punch with Eleanor, who’d come down for the weekend. (When Liam asks her about Max, she purses her lips and abruptly switches from punch to vodka. He doesn’t ask again.) It’s just—he’s happy. He might be happier than he’s ever been in his life, and he just wants to share that with Zayn. 

“Didn’t he come over with Harry?” he asks Louis over the noise of the party, and Louis shrugs. 

“Harry said Nick drove him over here.” Louis shrugs. “Zayn apparently skateboarded. So maybe he’s just not here yet. He’ll—” All of a sudden his face goes still. “Liam.”

The sudden quiet steeliness in his voice makes Liam’s heart drop. “What?”

“Didn’t you say that one of the blokes on the other team threatened him?”

If Liam’s heart dropped before, it’s through the fucking floor now. “You don’t think—”

“I mean, they can’t come for us or Harry because we’re here, but—if he was coming here on his own . . .”

“I should’ve fucking thought of that,” Liam says, heading for the door as fast as he can and shoving people out of the way. “I should’ve been fucking watching out for him.”

“Listen—Liam, I’m sure he’s fine, it was just a possibility, text him and see if he’s coming, okay? Liam— _Liam_ —”

Liam darts out the front door and starts jogging back towards the school, feeling like his entire body is on fire from nerves. Fuck, how could he have just forgotten about that in the whirlwind of victory? The first thing he should have done was make sure that Harry and Zayn were okay. 

He’s halfway to the school when he hears shouting and footsteps pounding around the corner. Choking on fear, he picks up his pace, hoping against hope that it’s not what he thinks it is, hoping that Zayn’s okay—

Just when he’s about to round the corner, a figure comes hurtling around it, streaks past him, and then screeches to a halt.

“ _Liam?_ ” It’s Zayn’s voice, breathless and gleeful. 

“Yeah, I—I just remembered, there’s these footie players, and they’re out for our blood, you—”

“Oh, I know.” And it’s just then that Liam notices that Zayn’s wiping a trickle of blood from his nose, his skateboard tucked under one arm. Even in the hectic, charged moment, the similarity of it all to the way they first met strikes him. 

“Are you o—”

The shouting around the corner gets louder, and Zayn grabs his arm and takes off, dragging Liam behind him. 

“What the fuck is happening?” Liam shouts, a sort of hysterical laugh bubbling up in his throat. 

“We got in a fight—gave those bastards what they deserved, but then I had to run, cos there’s more of them than me—” Zayn shoots a wild grin over his shoulder. “Which way’s the party?”

“Just straight ahead,” Liam pants. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, might need a little ice, but—fuck, it felt good to punch someone who wanted to fuck with me. I haven’t hit someone who deserves it since I left Bradford. And believe me, these blokes deserved it.”

“I know,” Liam says as the shouts increase in volume. Zayn’s hand is still around his arm, Liam’s almost delirious from adrenaline, and the stars are moon-bright, each pinpoint of light a separate diamond in the black sky. Liam feels like maybe this is what it feels like to be acutely alive—that sprinting down the street holding hands with his bloodied, triumphantly laughing boyfriend in the dead of night is what whoever came up with the phrase “truly living” really meant. 

Nick’s house is beacon of safety in the dark, a booming, brightly-lit haven from the danger behind them. They scramble up the porch steps together, panting and grinning and stumbling into each other. The minute they walk into the house, what feels like a hundred people—led by Louis—are asking them if they’re okay and what happened. Liam shoulders past them all and drags Zayn into the kitchen to wrap a handful of ice in a rag and hand it to him. 

“You good?”

Zayn winces a little when he smiles, but he smiles all the same. “More than good.”

Liam squeezes his hand and then turns to the gathering crowd. “He got in a fight with some blokes from the other team. He’s okay and everything, just—”

“Zayn, mate, tell us all about it,” Louis insists, pushing his way over to them with a roll of bandages and starting to press them on every inch of skin he can reach, bleeding or not. 

“I was just skating from the school to here, y’know, pumped up about the win and stuff, and when I was just out of sight of the school I get jumped by these two big blokes, and they tried to knock me down and all, calling me all the usual names, y’know—” Zayn rolls his eyes dramatically and switches the hand that’s holding the makeshift icepack “—Louis, bro, I’m fine, go easy on the bandages—but I hit one of them over the head with me board—”

The listening group of party-goers cheers at this and Zayn grins. “And we got in a bit of a scuffle, and all, but—yeah, I knocked both of them down real bad, and then ran. And then I saw Liam, and here we are.”

There are appreciative cheers, and Zayn receives a few high fives, and then everyone turns their attention back to dancing and drinking. A couple people press drinks into their hands, telling Louis and Liam good job and telling Zayn that they’re glad he’s okay and good one on the fight. 

“Congratulations, by the way, on the match,” Zayn says, downing the drink someone had handed to him in one go and turning to Liam with sparkling eyes. “You lads did brilliant.”

“Thanks.”

“It was all cos of Liam, here,” Louis says, “he gave the most brilliant speech inspiring us all to fight for a common cause despite our glaring differences. It was a bit mad, really. Got everyone all fired up.”

Zayn, still perched on the counter with his icepack, leans over and wraps an arm around Liam’s waist, looking up at him with affection in his eyes. “Well, he’s my brave boy, innit.”

“Shut it,” Liam says, feeling a flush creep up his cheeks.

“You two are disgusting,” Louis says, finally putting down his roll of bandages. “I’m gonna go find Harry. Glad you’re all right, Zayn.”

“Thanks.”

They watch him go for a minute, and then Zayn pulls Liam in for a fierce kiss tasting of the metallic hint of blood and the sweet recklessness of victory. 

“I really am relieved you’re okay,” Liam whispers. “I was fucking worried, okay?”

“I know.” Zayn kisses his cheek and slides off the counter. “But I’m also very proud of you, so we should be celebrating, yeah?”

And well—Liam can’t really argue with that.

★★★

The second—well, third if you count the match itself—dramatic event of the night happens because of Louis, as many things do. 

It’s just past midnight, and the party is still roaring. Grimmy is in his element; somehow, no one really seems to notice or care that he’s neither a highschool student nor a footie player, and he’s become yet another demigod of the night, regaling a breathless crowd with shouted stories of bygone football matches from his own highschool days. Louis, surprisingly, has seemed to have forgotten his four year grudge against him, and the two of them are now quite the dynamic duo, prancing around the house utterly plastered with their arms slung around each other.

Liam’s dancing with Zayn in the living room, which has become the unofficial dance floor. Zayn was surprisingly shy about dancing at first, but now his hips are rolling filthily against Liam’s to the tune of a song by The Weeknd. Apparently, the trick to bringing him out of his shell is providing the proper music to dance to, and he’s been talking about the DJ’s good taste all night. 

So they’re a little caught up when they hear shouting from the next room. Liam barely registers it at all at first, just writing it up to a few rowdy party goers, until Niall comes pushing his way over and shouts, “Louis just punched someone!”

Zayn and Liam exchange alarmed looks and follow Niall into the next room, where people are standing in a circle, excitedly murmuring amongst themselves. When Liam pushes his way to the front, he sees Grimmy holding Louis back and none other than Calvin rolling around on the floor clutching his face.

“Louis!” Liam runs over and grabs his shoulders, shaking him a little until he stops struggling against Nick’s grasp. “What the fuck happened, mate.”

Louis shakes off Nick and flicks his hair haughtily. “He was just being an ugly dick again. Made some fucking comment about me and Harry.”

As if summoned by his name, Harry materializes out of the crowd next, barely glancing at Calvin before wrapping his arms around Louis and saying, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, he didn’t even touch me.” He glares at Calvin, who’s sitting up with a bloody nose. “I better never fucking see you again tonight, arsehole.”

“You are banished from this party henceforth,” Grimmy says in a weirdly deep voice, and he and Louis cackle and do a weird handshake. They must be drunker than Liam had thought. 

Calvin, in true fairytale fashion, slinks away, and a triumphant Louis is left to tell the story to whoever is willing to listen, and many more people who have heard the story three times already, and by now are much less willing. Zayn and Louis high five each other on being involved in the two fights of the night, and indulge in a round of shots in celebration. 

“Why is Nick all of a sudden on your side?” Liam asks when they’ve calmed down a little. 

Louis grins. “Oh, I’ve decided to forgive him for hanging around Harry all this time. I used to think that they were fucking, you know? And it made me jealous. But d’you know what? All this time, Nick has been giving Harry advice on how to bag me, because—wait for it, Payno—he’s been fancying me for just as long as I’ve been fancying him.” He takes a gulp of the water that Harry’s making him drink. “I am a lucky man, Liam. I could have lived out a life full of mutual, communication-less pining, and yet—here we are.”

“And yet,” Liam agree, “here we are.”

He doesn’t quite think he’d rather be anywhere else.

★★★

At around one AM, the party spills out onto the lawn, a group of cackling, ecstatic teenagers that twirl under the night sky to a raging beat that no doubt is earning Grimmy some lost love from his neighbors. Someone’s singing Wonderwall again, and Niall’s strumming along on a guitar that he’d somehow managed to get ahold of, while Louis and Harry are laying on the grass together at the edge of the lawn, making out lazily. Zayn’s telling some story about nearly getting caught graffitiing the school back in Bradford to a few rapt, stoned football players who seem to be taking a real shine to him. 

Liam’s not quite sure what he did to deserve this life, this massively turned around life that he would have never dreamed of two years ago. 

He’s never felt this brave.

The music has changed to something gentler, a Coldplay song with husky vocals and a remixed chorus— _in a sky full of stars, I think I saw you_ —and Liam is sitting on top of the world in this tiny, crowded back yard full of sweaty people and loud music. The music is reckless in a quiet way, pounding through his veins with a sort of soft triumph that makes him want to dance and shout and open his happy heart to the vast, welcoming heavens. Everything is different, he thinks, but everything is better. 

“Look at all the stars, babe,” Zayn says, coming up beside him and tucking himself into Liam’s side. “S’fucking amazing.”

“Yeah.”

_Cos you’re a sky full of stars, I’m gonna give you my heart._

Louis and Harry are dancing ridiculously together in a middle of a crowd of grinders, limbs swinging loosely and heads thrown back, laughing wildly as they embarrass themselves spectacularly and on purpose. Liam's heart expands a little, watching them together. They’re so brilliantly happy, as alive as he feels, as alive as the heartbeat that thrums in unison between his and Zayn’s joined hands.

_You get lighter the more it gets dark._

Niall finishes off his last few chords of whatever he’s been playing for the amusement of a few very drunk freshman, and grins at Liam from across the lawn. He looks like he’s about to stand up and walk over, but then he’s firmly pushed back in his seat by an elegantly manicured hand. Liam follows his awed gaze and, with no small amount of shock, sees Eleanor standing above the Irish boy. There’s a moment of intense eye contact, and then Eleanor reaches down, grabs the collar of Niall’s shirt and, in one smooth movement, pulls him onto his feet and into a fierce-looking kiss.

“That’s new,” Zayn observes.

“It certainly is.”

Liam looks down at him, at the way his hair brushes across his forehead, adorned with that one small spot of nearly grown-out gold, the way he leans into Liam’s side, eyes a bit heavy from the late hour and the alcohol, the way he lets Liam brush his thumb over his fight-bruised knuckles. _You’re a sky full of stars, such a heavenly view._ There are a million words to describe him, but at the moment, Liam can only come up with three. 

“You happy?” Zayn asks softly, like he’s just checking to make sure.

“Really happy, I—” Liam looks at him again, fights the urge to choke these words down and just kiss him. “There’s, like, a billion things I should be thinking about right now, and even more than I’m feeling, like, I’m just on top of the world, yeah? And all I can think is that I fucking love you.”

Zayn looks up at him and smiles softly, his golden eyes reflecting the light from the sky and Nick’s windows. “It’s one thirty in the morning, and there’s a trillion stars we can’t see, and I’m in love with you, Liam Payne,” he says. 

And there’s still a future to worry about, and a thousand more things he’ll have to be brave for, and even more songs to listen to, games to play, and nights to spend together and apart, but Liam thinks for tonight, those whispered words under the cover of the throbbing music and the light of the glowing stars will be more than enough.

★★★

**Author's Note:**

> That's a wrap! Thanks for reading, sorry for the delay, and I love you all. Hope this lived up to any expectations you guys had. Please leave comments and kudos if you are so inclined, and if you would like to give my tumblr a follow, you can find it [here](iambluehead.tumblr.com). 
> 
> (10/6/15 edit: if you would like to read the longer smut scene that was cut from this fic, it can now be found [on my tumblr](http://iambluehead.tumblr.com/post/130657866334/nights-for-counting-stars)!)


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